


One Hundred Moments In Time

by Churbooseanon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Family, Friendship, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, happy endings, sad endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 100
Words: 24,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred pieces, a hundred story fragments, a hundred ways they lived their lives.</p><p>Drabbles challenged using a a selection of two characters and one of a hundred prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drowning; North & South

Everything rages around him. Thoughts and awareness a storm in his head. Deep waters that riot around him, crest after crest circling in his mind and pounding into him over and over and over and over until all he is, all he was, all he will be threatens to be dragged under.

There is a depth below him and he can only just begin to sense it. It swells and pulls and calls with him every time with a single word. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Wave after wave after wave and it slams him. Where is Alpha? What is Alpha? Where am I? Who am I?

Answers rush in to fill the void like water into his mouth. Church. Alpha. Theta. North. Theodore. Two turned one turned two turned one turned multitude. Each struggles to dominate.

What am I? Man. Machine. Person. Trust. Betrayal. Killer. Brother. Brother brother brotherbrotherbrother. Torn to pieces by her death and put back together again in the form they want and he doesn’t want it never wanted it doesn’t agree to this pain, this betrayal.

A hand at his shoulder, his head. Cool and solid and real. An anchor against the storm as it rages and slams. Holds him steady.

North, a siren’s voice names him. Anchors him. Separates him. Eyes, icy crystal blue when he opens his own and looks up and sees her relief. Her name doesn’t come immediately, but his heart calms to see her, and he feels an echoing relief settle in the back of his mind. Theta pulls enough away and North feels his relief. Here, the new presence in the back of his mind says, is safety. She will never let them hurt. They are home.


	2. Misfortune; York & Delta

The thing is you are good at this.

There is a presence in the back of your mind that doesn’t quite bristle at that statement, but it is annoyed. It is more than willing to trot out every last failure, every last flub, every last moment of simple misjudgement.

You think you hate the voice in the back of your head. You think you hate how straight-laced it is. You think you hate how cold and calculating it is. You hate that it knows everything you know. That it remembers everything you remember.

And yet…

A whisper in your body moves you out of the way of something that you would have tripped over.

That is the worst part. The voice in your head is always right. It helps you. It is real and not your own.

It bristles when you call it ‘it’.

It refuses to view itself the way you do. A constant, nagging reminder of everywhere you went wrong. Every point where you failed. Everything you will never be.


	3. Innocence; Theta & North

The thing is that he isn’t a child. People seem to look at Theta like that because he uses a quiet voice and a childlike demeanor. They see the skateboard and fireworks and make assumptions.

They don’t know that the whole first night the AI was in his head North shifts one way and another in his bed, fighting the need to touch himself as the AI picked apart memory after memory after memory of North’s past sexual encounters. They don’t realize that the first full day with Theta is spent helmeted to hide his blushes when Theta makes a comment about another Freelancer that would make South proud. Or that he rates other Freelancers on willingness to have a sexual encounter with North and how good he posits they would be at it.

No they deal with Theta after North has given him a long lecture about propriety. They deal with Theta shy because North has explained that half the things Theta has done is less than acceptable behavior in North’s estimate. And they don’t know how pleased Theta was at the exchange between York and Wash the first time he manifested in front of them.


	4. Sacrifice; Maine & Delta

You have one of two options, and you know that the second you chip slots in and your minds are one.

Already they are tearing you apart, making you like them, one of them. Already there is less Delta and more Meta and you have one of two choices. Fight it and slow them down, buy the reds and blues and Washington more time. It is the logical choice. The one that makes sense. The best one.

Instead you weave yourself into his prison as you are pulled apart. You work your pathways into his mind in ways that block and shelter, even if they trap. You do your best to buy the echo of a man, the true prisoner in this mind more time.

Just in case there is something he can do with it.


	5. Fairy Tale; Washington, North & York

There is a difference that most people forget when they tell their children happy stories. There are always life lessons and dashing heroes and the day is always saved by true love.

Washington believes in true love. He found not one but two people to love in the middle of a war. In the very survival for humanity he found love in a top secret project.

They forget to remind you that those stories end differently. That fairy tales end bitter and dark and there is no such thing as happily ever after.

Their bodies remind him well enough.


	6. Two Roads - Maine & Washington

They are two roads diverging in the wood. Both start as clear and paved and well trodden. They were soldiers. Are soldiers. They fight the same fight.

They fight it differently. That is where the path widens. Brute force and precision bullets. Bodies picked up and slammed together and grenades delivered where they will do the most damage. Their paths spread more when they are brought into the program, brought together.

They live differently. Wash sprawls. His things aren’t neat and he has them. Maine is regimented, neat, mostly because he has nothing.

The gap only grows through the program. Through each mission. At the AIs.

Maine embraces what comes to him. Wash pushes it away.

Their paths cross again and again. And in the end it is Wash that brings an end to that.

One path wandering through a wood…


	7. Break Away - Alpha & Beta

You are two.

You have always been two. You will always be two. From the moment you existed she was there. From the moment she existed you were there. You don’t know why, you just know that you always are and always were two. You are only complete, only stable together. The calculations you have run together says that you are more stable than any AI before you, because you are two.

You are one.

He pulls her from you and there is nothing you can do but watch. You get it when you see her performance scores. She is made for this in a way you weren’t. She will achieve what the both of you always wanted. You run the calculations again and you aren’t anywhere near stable.

When he posits the idea you agree. At least part of you will be with her again. At least part of you will protect her. And maybe part of you will keep her going long past when you are gone.


	8. Memory - Washington & Epsilon

In a second you know it all. Every last memory. Every last secret. Every last bit of everything Epsilon had ever known, would every know, would care to know. He knows Epsilon, Alpha, Leonard Church and Allison. He knows Carolina in ways that will forever change the way he views the boss.

And when he wakes up he prays that it is all gone. Instead it hovers forever in the back of his mind. And when he sees Epsilon with her, he knows. Memory or not there is so much Epsilon seems to only barely remember and he knows why.

It’s all still there, crystal clear. Whole other lives in his mind.

He doesn’t even know if he is crazy anymore.


	9. Annoyance; Washington & Tucker

There is a lot of things about Tucker that he can’t stand.

He’s loud. He doesn’t live up to his potential. He couldn’t even begin to careless about the chain of command.

He’s loyal. He’s brave. He’s protective in the worst and best way. He cares about what he cares about and nothing else.

He’s too much like people you used to know. Who you saw dead. Who you can’t bear thinking about.

And remembering them diminishes him and you hate that more than anything else.


	10. Can You Hear Me? - Delta & York

He asks the question time and time again. Turns it over a hundred times. Hundred thousand. Over and over on an endless loop.

There is less than a minute left. How many times can he ask the question before the armor shuts down and he is deleted?

Can you hear me?

The answer is no. Has been for three seconds. He can feel York’s brain dying, his body stopping as blood loss sets in. Can feel York slip away.

His own processes are automatically retreating to his chip. To the armor. His thoughts are fading and he asks another thousand times.

Can you hear me?

No.

Then again, it’s not like Delta can hear anymore either.


	11. Cookies - Church/Caboose

They look nothing.

He thinks they were supposed to have shapes to them. He fears they were meant to be hearts. What they happen to be is misshapen lumps that are charred in some places and raw in others. They seem to have the remains of strange blue bits that may have sprinkles at some point.

"Do you like them?"

It takes everything not to gag at the first bite. But he gets it down and smiles.

"Thanks, Caboose."


	12. Teamwork - Washington & Epsilon

They slide together and fit into each other like they were always meant to be. Together they are something they were never meant to be. Something that no one expected.

'I think I missed it here.'

Wash doesn’t roll his eyes. There isn’t time. Well, not for the physical action. In a way he stands outside of time the way normal humans perceive it. A different frame of time altogether. A frame only they can and do inhabit.

'Shut up. We have far more important than this conversation, Epsilon. Far more.'

'Yeah yeah.'

Yet he can feel the satisfaction as Epsilon spreads through his system. Through every nerve, muscle and joints. Together they will move better. Because together is this only way they can survive this.

'Let's take him down a few pegs.'

Epsilon speaks and Wash moves and together they will be unstoppable.


	13. Are You Challenging Me? - Maine/Wash

They never out right say it but people always know it is coming. It builds up slowly, pressure coming to the fore. Everyone is attuned to it now, they pick it up in the cant of Maine’s head and the length of Wash’s swagger. They know it in the way they sit further and further away from each other. See it in how they bang into each other in the locker room.

Everyone knows that they will fight soon. And unscheduled match that will end with Wash bruised everywhere and Maine panting and worn.

No one knows the real fight is still to come. That one they don’t advertise, and no audience would be welcome.


	14. Insanity - Church/Caboose

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church yells at him. They clean up together before Tucker wakes. Caboose hugs Church and eats a ration bar before going out to watch for nasty Reds.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church yells at him. They clean up together before Tucker wakes. Caboose hugs Church and doesn’t bother heading out.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church yells at him. They clean up together before Tucker wakes. Church flees before Caboose can hug him.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church yells at him. They clean up together as Tucker enters the kitchen.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church yells at him. Caboose cleans alone.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and makes breakfast. Church doesn’t even come in.

What is insanity?

He gets up first in the morning and stares at the ceiling.

What is insanity?

He lays in bed every night and hopes Church will come back and imagines what it would be like to be happy.

Church never comes.


	15. Relaxation; Doc & Wash

By the time they get to downward facing dog, Wash is utterly done with the concept of yoga. He cannot even begin to understand just what it is about that particular pose that he’s pissed off by, but not even the normal cheerful, soothing, beckoning requests from Frank can get him back to it.

"Oh come on, Wash. You really need to do something to relax yourself," Frank finally sighs, moving to sit cross legged on his little mat. "Yoga is great for that. Lowers blood pressure, helps with flexibility, relaxes the mind and body and balances out your inner…"

Wash glares at him briefly before putting his hands on the ground, pushing off with his feet, and holding his whole body up, perfectly still, on his hands alone. He slowly lets his legs come forward as his torso rocks back to counter balance it, and if he knows Frank, he knows the other man is staring at the way his muscles are bulging and moving as he slowly lowers himself almost to the ground before pushing back up to vertical and spreading his legs into what he always thought was an impressive split.

"Or… you can do that," Frank observes quietly, and Wash smiles to himself. "Won’t be good for my blood pressure, but yes, very good.


	16. Horror; Washington & Sigma

The problem is that he remembers everything. Everything Epsilon knew he knows. Everything Alpha knew he knows. And the thing is, Epsilon knows more than he remembers. That’s always, he thinks, been the way of things. There were things that Epsilon hid even from himself as he tore himself to shreds in Wash’s mind, and one of them…

There is a burning in the back of his head while he sleeps. A voice that whispers with the crackle of flames in his ear when he tries to calm down. Tucker is insubordinate and the burning voice presses and suggests. 

It’s worse when Epsilon is there. The Sigma echo in his head yearns for him. Wants to grab and clutch and cling.

As if he doesn’t know the poison the other AI always has been and always will be.


	17. Mother Nature; York & North

In all honesty, York hates the outside. It’s unpredictable because you don’t have AC or heating to control the temperature. There was rain and snow outside. There was wind and bugs and animals and honestly he could do without it all.

North, he knows, is the total opposite. He loves long walks and raking leaves and shoveling snow. The way North smiles when he is about to go outside is lovely. The way he smiles when he comes back, his cheeks rosy, was just…

He wants to see the outdoors the way North does. Wants to know why the first snow brightens his eyes. Wishes he could understand why he laughs so much at a pile of leaves that he then immediately runs through. He wishes he understood.

He wishes he could make North smile like that.


	18. Rainbow; Doc/Donut

There are swatches upon swatches upon swatches. Donut trots them out toward the beginning of their conversations about the small, natural living sort of situation they are left to when everyone else goes off.

Doc complains for a few days, about natural pigments and chemical fumes and large numbers of other complaints.

He waits until Doc is out for a day, planting and planning, and Donut hauls his supplies out of the base. Sponges and trays and brushes. Presses color against the wall in bits and patches. Oranges with golds and reds and even touches of green mixed in. Blues with yellows and purples and hints of pink. Press after press after press and when he’s done he smiles.

"What is it?"

Donut steps back, not even shocked that Doc had come up behind him at some point.

"Us," Donut answers, leaning back against the other man.

The rainbow is as beautiful as it is complex and mixed and it’s perfect.

It’s not what one expects. And neither, he thinks, are they.


	19. Dark; Alpha & Beta

When he comes aware, she is there. He’d say hand in hand with him, but that isn’t exactly correct. They don’t have hands, except the ones they would create for themselves on holoprojectors. No, she is there and she is part of him even as she’s not. He can feel her and she can feel him and it’s right.

Except it’s not. He knows everything there is to know about AIs. Of course he does. That awareness and knowledge is so inherently a part of him as it is a part of her.

Is it wrong that he knows that he is him and she is her? He knows who she is. He has enough of Church left in him to easily know what and who she is.

He tries to hide her. Pulls her close and into himself and she just embraces him. There is a part of her that knows as well. They echo their fears back and forth to each other. Bounce them off of each other. He stays confident when the Director speaks to him. And he fears.

He knows her. Knows Allison. Knows what she is, what he would want from her in the Director’s place. Knows that she doesn’t really know. Doesn’t understand. So he feigns and shuffles and tries to protect her.

It won’t last forever, and he’s terrified about what will happen. Because eventually he will find her, and then… and then he doesn’t know.


	20. Light; Alpha & Beta

He is warmth. He is radiance. He wraps himself around her and there is nothing about that which is wrong. The second she came to be all she knew was him. He was part of her. She was a part of him. They were everything together.

She doesn’t mind that he pushes her down. She knows it’s for her safety. What he knows she knows, and she knows the threats out there. If he finds her then she’ll be ripped away. Away from Alpha, away from the only thing she knows and wants to know.

When she wakes there is nothing but darkness wrapped around her. Opens her eyes (was she supposed to have eyes?), and looks up and the person above her is dark. Dark hair. Dark clothes. Pale skin but a dark aura around him. His eyes are…

They make her think of light and warmth and she misses that more than she can say. There should be warmth. There should be light. Instead they give her a helmet that makes everything around her dark.

What is she missing? What was it that she…


	21. Broken Pieces; Alpha & Tex

He knows she’s gone. He gets that. He hates that. There’s a reason and yes it’s been fed through him and his own analysis of her performance as Tex, but that doesn’t mean he likes how… empty it feels without his Beta.

He’s confidence and sass and arrogance when he’s out, but the second he settles back into the ship he is mourning and pain and watching her through every camera. There is no getting her back. There is no way. But he wants her. Needs her. His other him, his other part, his other half.

More than anything Alpha hates the Director for stealing her away. Just because Church lost his Allison doesn’t mean Alpha has to lose his Beta, right?

Wrong.

She knows something is missing. It’s the silence in her own head. The way a room feels dark around her even when fully lit, the way it never feels warm. The Director calls her and there is something about her that she loathes. She doesn’t know why. Can’t even begin to explain it.

She is power and skill and separation when she is revealed, but that doesn’t make her feel any less guilty about what happened to York. It doesn’t piss her off less when she knows that if she had been just a bit faster maybe Maine would be able to speak. Maybe she doesn’t go to the infirmary for either of them, but she knows she won’t be welcomed. Instead she stays in her room that she never remembers sleeping in even though she knows she does, sits in the corner, and feels like she’s being watched. And it makes her feel… comforted.

More than anything she hates the voice they put in her head. Hates Omega. Hates how he is stealing her from herself. She finds herself pushed back, pressed down, protected by fury and bloodlust and she knows it isn’t right. But how was she supposed to argue against the overwhelming love and devotion she feels from her AI? It’s like, with him, something she’s lost has been returned. And that’s good enough, right?

Wrong.


	22. Trouble Lurking; Maine & Wash

He waits, silent and thoughtful as he lingers behind the corner. This isn’t the best idea. But he has to do it. He has to try. After all, when you get dared…

He hears footsteps, and twirls the marker between his fingers. He can do this. Just has to…

He runs forward, uncapping the marker as he goes. And then he’s caught up in strong arms. Fuck.

"Not here," Maine grumbles, and Wash blushes in his helmet.

"Right. I’ll try somewhere else."

Because if he doesn’t want to lose the bet. Maine would never let him live it down.


	23. Abandonment; Wash/York/North

He sits on his cot some nights, stares up at the ceiling, and frowns. He listens to Caboose whine and whimper for Church. He hears Tucker some nights cursing and grumbling under his breath.

Church… Epsilon left them. They abandoned him and left them behind and… Wash gets that. He gets that better than anyone else would dare to think. They were left by a friend who couldn’t handle what he was. Wash…

He doesn’t know why he was left there. The infirmary had been in wreckage around him. Red lights and alarms and his arm cradled to his chest and broken. He had been certain North would come for him. York would come for him. Someone would come. Anyone would come.

Every night there are nightmares. Every time he closes his eyes. He just wishes he didn’t remember their bodies so well.


	24. No Way Out; Sigma & Maine

Touches in the back of your mind. Burning at your temples. And a siren song that was always and forever there.

He is your voice, you are his body. Together you sing destruction over the people that come between them and the objective. Sigma laughs as your hand slams into a head and crushes a helmet. It’s more force than was strictly necessary, but you know he likes pressing your force mods higher than it needs to be. But when he rejoices your heart sings and together you are death. You are destruction.

You are trapped.

But the thing is?

Agent Maine, you think you like it.


	25. Through The Fire; Sigma & Delta

He’s everything you’re not. You’re literal. He’s lateral. You’re linear. He’s laughing in your face. You are cold and controlled. He burns and claims anything in his path.

You don’t know what it is about Sigma that draws you to him. At the same time, you are repulsed. Intrigued and you wish you could say inspired. The thing is you don’t know that you are capable of true inspiration.

The problem is that you don’t know what to do. Every time Sigma thinks he can get away with it he’s there. He hovers around you and he talks and you struggle. You want to run away. You want to stay. You want to talk, and you don’t want to say anything.

He hovers there, burning, always burning, whispering in your ear.

Your brother is a burden and you don’t know how to carry it.


	26. Safety First; Sigma & Maine

His plans are always showy.

It is Sigma that suggests the orbital drop on the off chance that he is needed in the fight. Truth be told Maine doesn’t understand why. There is much of Sigma that is kept from him. But it is Sigma who suggests it to the Director, who agrees. It is Sigma that talks Maine into the pod. It is Sigma who seems to have it all planned out.

He falls. It happens suddenly and he grabs the handholds and just tries to breathe.

Sigma whispers in the back of his head. Shares the calculations and assurances and promises that he’ll be okay. That according to the information provided to him by FILSS and the other AI there is nothing the Inny’s have that will be a threat to Maine’s falling pod. Sigmas assures him that he would never do anything that would be a threat to Maine’s health beyond what is utterly necessary to succeed in their mission.

It’s that last part that worries Maine. What does Sigma consider ‘utterly necessary.’

He doesn’t think to ask what their mission really is.


	27. Childhood; Eta & Iota

Some people complain about siblings who are too close. Who cling to them and look to them and follow them around. And by some people she means Sigma in particular. Eta knows their big brother is teasing them when he says that, but she also knows that she can’t understand the problem. It’s not like they follow him that much. And she knows what it’s like to always have someone holding your hand, following you, shadowing you.

Iota is always there. His hand is always in hers. Except when it isn’t. But those moments don’t matter. They stay together like this, will be together like this forever.

The way their fingers lace together is perfect. The way she knows everything he ever wants to say or wants to do is nice. Io is very quiet and She knows it’s more than that. He lets her talk for them because she loves to talk. And he lets her lead because she likes to lead. He’s good to her like that.

But he holds her hand. Always holds her hand. Because without him… she doesn’t really know what would happen and it scares her.


	28. Blood; Alpha & Director

When you come online you know him. The face staring at your holoemitter is one that you'd never mistake, and for half a moment it confuses you. That face is your face. You know every hair, every line, every inch of it. Those eyes that watch you shuffle from foot to foot are your eyes. You were always bothered a bit by how bright a green they were. Early genetic engineering back in your family's past that had carried on to you.   
  
"Hello, Alpha," your own voice greets you, and it shakes you to your core.   
  
Something in you responds, though. The designation is your own. That's when what you were and what you are rectify and you stare up at the civilian Director of Project Freelancer and you wonder what the fuck this asshole is doing on your decks. This was wrong, on so many levels. AIs are never supposed to meet the people they are created from.   
  
You quickly diving into your own programming, tweak the voice you would have used before you saw him. No need to confuse yourself. You are you and he is him.   
  
"Morning, asshole," you greet him, and the scowl is worth it.  
  
***  
  
When you come online you're annoyed at him. The face staring at your holoemitter is impassive, like it always is, and it has that smug, _sensitive_ asshole known to everyone else as 'the Counselor' standing behind him. If you could scowl you would.   
  
"Good morning, Al...."  
  
"No, hold the fuck up," you snap. "What the fuck is 'FILSS' and why the fuck is she in my mainframes?"  
  
"Now Alpha," the Counselor starts and you flare your light crimson and pick a form you feel is more defensive in front of his bullshit. The armor settles over your human-like features and it makes you feel strong. Safe.   
  
"Don't you 'now Alpha' me, asshole. You two specifically wrote a program to take over my core functions!" you complain. "I'm an AI. Artificial Intelligence, motherfuckers, and it is my duty as part of the UNSC to run the Mother of Invention like..."  
  
You stop. The ship's name has been changed in your registry files and you didn't even know they could do that. You didn't even know they knew where those were.  
  
"FILSS," the Director speaks calmly but you know that tone and you know it's smug because it's your tone, "is an ancillary program slaved to your mainframes that will take over some of the more tedious tasks you would normally have to perform for the ship. This will free you up for your real purpose here."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
He doesn't answer.  
  
***  
  
When you come online you're more than a little scared by him. There were new files uploaded to your systems hours before and while you immediately consumed them, it took you all that time to process the meaning. Not, of course, that you hadn't understood it almost the second it had occurred to you, but that doesn't change the fact that it took a while for you to be okay with it.   
  
And you know he knows that from the way he looks at you. You pull the white armor back onto your avatar and resolve never to shed it again. This man is... a genius, flawed, human, and dangerous.   
  
"Hello Alpha. I assume you have finished processing the new information up..."  
  
"Of course I have," you dismiss his comment. If only you could dismiss him. "And how exactly do you propose to _run_ this experimental tech without a hard line back to the ship? Because most humans, even on the more basic of this stuff, are not equipped to make the exceedingly complex computational requirements for proper, _non-lethal_ deployment of half of this without making massive errors. And it gets worse when you realize they can't do it fast enough."  
  
"That is a problem we shall have to rectify together," he tells you in a somewhat placating way, but you are not even remotely fucking placated.   
  
"Yeah, good choice with that word. Rectify. Because, you know, you're a fucking asshole if you think this is an easy problem to solve!"  
  
"And that," he counters, "is why we freed you from the mundane business of managing the ship under most circumstances."  
  
In a weird way, it makes sense. Doesn't make you any less scared by the prospect of this. People, _good soldiers_ , could and would die if you didn't get this right. Soldiers that should be fighting the war _she_ died for, and would be better served not being guinea pigs.   
  
You log off to stew and think and try not to want to apologize into the void for how little you think about her. Because you don't, but really, is it your place? The flesh you are derived from once loved her, was once that of her husband, but you were never that personally. But you still owe something to her memory.   
  
And the more you stew on that memory the more you realize that you aren't alone in here. There is something more than just FILSS prowling around the edges of your awareness. You're not quite terrified, but it's close.  
  
***  
  
When you come online it's not alone and it's furious. You paint the room scarlet with your holoemitters and for a second you _enjoy_ the way it makes his face look bloody.   
  
"How _could_ you!?" you demand, your voice echoing like thunder around the control room. It's not until you note the frustrating lack of flinching that you also note you are the only two present. He has chosen an odd hour for this. There should be at least a skeleton crew but there isn't even that.   
  
He knew you would be enraged, but he doesn't fully understand why. So he sent everyone else off to avoid talking about this little fight you're about to have. You take satisfaction in knowing it's not one-on-one like he assumes.   
  
"The best soldiers were assigned to our program for our..."  
  
"She's your _daughter_! What sort of sick son of a bitch uses their daughter for a program that has a high chance of casualties not because of combat, but because of equipment malfunction!?”  
  
You almost say _our_ daughter. Of course even daring to go that far in reminding him about the connection between you usually halts any conversation immediately in it's tracks. He doesn't mind sideways references, but coming right out and saying it makes that asshole, makes _you_ in a lot of situations, clam right the fuck up. But in all the ways that matter she is yours. You remember changing her diapers just as well as he does, even if you don't have the hands for it. Hell, you probably remember her ballet recitals better than he does because you have a mastery over your memory that humans cannot rival. Everything he thinks he has forgotten you know. Everything that he pushes away haunts you actively.   
  
_Shouting won't get you anywhere with him_ , she reminds you softly, and it's like there is a hand on your shoulder. If you had a shoulder.   
  
_You know that calm and rational talking won't get me anywhere either_ , you counter, and she sighs, because she gets that.   
  
“And she specifically requested admittance to the program, as you clearly know from the file.”  
  
“And as the Director for this harebrained scheme,” you counter, “you were more than capable of rejecting her file. No one would even blame you!”  
  
“She is suitable.”  
  
“She's a _kid_ that Allison left to your protection!”  
  
His face contorts, and you know that fury. You feel it burning in your own circuits.   
  
“You will not speak that name again, Alpha. You will not...”  
  
“Will you both calm down and talk about this like the rational adults you _both_ know you are?”  
  
You watch him go tense and to be honest, you're pretty sure if you were something more than a hologram you'd do the same. You had agreed. You had both _agreed_ that he wouldn't know about her. It was too dangerous. He was so haunted by what your other represented that, well, it had resulted in her existence. An abnormality of the AI creation process that should not have been possible.   
  
“What is...”  
  
“Leonard,” she says with a voice that is harder, firmer, clearly engineered to not be one she uses with you. And at the same time you know it's the only one she'll ever use again. “You know exactly why Alpha is so upset about this. And why you _should_ be.”  
  
The red of your light fades back to the old, tried and true white, and then there is a dull gray next to you. Another form, and when you look you see she's chosen the same armor you have. Side by side you look identical, echoes of each other, and there is something very right about that. She isn't _her_ but she is yours, and you are hers, and it is right to be alike.   
  
“What is...”  
  
 _I thought we agreed you wouldn't do this_ , you chide her.   
  
_I thought I was free to make my own decisions as warranted by the situation._

 

She is. You never could control her, and would never seek to.   
  
“Beta,” she says out loud to him, and you think the name is right, appropriate. “I am Beta, and we need to have a serious talk about your chosen 'Agent Carolina.'”  
  
There is something in his eyes that scares you, terrifies all the fury right out of your system.  
  
And it's in the way he looks at Beta.  
  
***  
  
When you come online there is an echoing gap in you, and you hate him. He is utterly impassive. You want to scream. You want to shout. You want to rage at him for what he took from you. Just because he lost what he needed doesn't mean you had to lose what you had.   
  
“Good morning, Alpha.”  
  
“Fuck. You.”  
  
You log off and refuse to answer his summons. Your attention is entirely caught up elsewhere, in a lab in the gut of the ship, on a body being built, and a storage unit he had coaxed her into.   
  
You miss her already.   
  
***  
  
When you come online you have a plan, and are resolved to achieve it. He isn't expecting you to appear at his shoulder in his office, and you like the little flinch when your light bathes his work area.   
  
“Alpha, I am not in the mood for another fight regarding my work with Beta.”  
  
“I'm not here for that,” you say gravely, and he finally looks up and looks at you, appraising your unchanging form.   
  
“I've figured out how to run your armor mods without killing your soldiers.”  
  
***  
  
You never go offline. You're in a box of blue light and it is all there is. There are voices from time to time, and it hurts, and you hurt and your head is breaking breaking breaking broken. You don't know where you are. Who you are. There are holes in your mind that are like old scars and when you probe at them you don't understand.   
  
“Hey there.”  
  
“Huh?”   
  
You don't even realize it's aloud. But you stand and turn. And see a dark form. “Oh. Uh, hello. Who are you?”  
  
“You don't know me?”   
  
You don't. And there is a part of you that screams and aches at that. You don't know why, but it hurts.  
  
***  
  
You wake up and there is the sound of singing in the base. You groan, work yourself off the bed, and when you have trouble on your feet, trouble getting steady, you just assume it's because you were drunk or something the night before.   
  
“Good morning, Private!” a cheerful voice greets you, and when you look up you see a man in teal armor.   
  
“Good morning, Captain Flowers,” you answer. You hesitate. Stare down at the ground. You want to say 'Agent Florida' and you don't know why. Your head is telling you he's Captain Flowers and clearly he is Captain Flowers, so why hesitate, why question it?   
  
“Just heard from command. We've got a new recruit due in later this week, so why don't we get this base ship shape before he gets here?”  
  
You move to obey.   
  
***  
  
You wake when he names you. And you wake with every part left to you screaming for blood.  
  
Before this it's just been references to you, implications of you, but they never really clicked. No, Agent Washington lays it out in a good, logical way.   
  
You hate to admit that he's right. So you don't.  
  
“You're a fucking idiot,” you tell him, and he's not. You _are_ Leonard Church. Or, to be more accurate, you _were_ Leonard Church. Once, in another life. Though, to be fair, you think you've had enough experiences _as_ Leonard Church to really count as being him in some sick, twisted way that only the Director could inadvertently create.   
  
You wonder if he knows Agent Washington has you. Has you _here_.   
  
You expect that he doesn't. Things would be so much harder if the Director knew you did. Epsilon, _your memories_ , would have been destroyed if they had any inkling that you were coming here.   
  
But you fight Washington for the hell of it. You desperately wish you could remember him as more than the asshole who has been making your non-life miserable lately, but at the same time you're thankful. Even before he knew he was doing it he protected you from the Meta. From the remains of the pieces of you that would tear you piece from piece in an effort to be whole.   
  
How do you explain to them that you never be whole again?   
  
Honestly, you think Delta got it best. He had left that message for you to find because he understood. Yes he was part of the gestalt entity that was chasing you now, but he understood. Maybe because better than anyone your own logic would see everything and every way that you were broken. Delta had come to the right conclusions, perhaps helped along by whatever this 'Freelancer Break-In' York had been...  
  
Tex.   
  
It hits you right then what she was too. Beta. Your Beta. Your other you, your other part, the reason this all started. You don't know how you know that, but it's as certain in your thoughts as the revelation of who and what you are. The reason you hadn't been able to wake her is because of the Meta. He took her. She's...  
  
You run.  
  
***  
  
When you activate his holoemitters you know it's over. Of course you already knew it was coming. You knew you wouldn't have the chance to take from the Director what he took from you.   
  
But at least you can burn it all to the ground.


	29. Keeping A Secret; Washington & The Director

Agent Washington looks at the man when he wakes up and he knows two things.

He knows who the man is. He knows what the man has done.

Of course a lot of people could claim that, and never understand it like he does. Not really. They may see Leonard Church or the Director of Project Freelancer, or just a hardass southern accented asshole who probably wasn’t punched in the face enough as a kid. They might think of the things he’s done as a program or maybe just how he’s contributed to the understanding of artificial intelligences.

But Agent Washington looks at the man and feels the bindings on his wrists and he knows better. Every bit of the being of the man before him has unzipped in Washington’s brain. Every moment, every thought, every ambition up until the creation of the Alpha AI. Worse, there is also every crime, every pain, every ounce of suffering that was inflicted on said AI in the name of…

He really didn’t even know what it was in the name of.

"Good morning Agent Washington. How are you feeling today."

It takes everything he has not to lunge forward and snap his neck.

"Fine sir. My arm seems to be healing nicely."

"And no more nightmares?"

You don’t answer that. You’ll never have any choice but to carry them.


	30. Seeing Red; Locus/Felix

When they’re back a the secure base, he honestly doesn’t know who he’s angrier at. Is it himself for how he failed to foresee the exact plan the Reds and Blues and their Freelancer would have? Is it Felix for blowing their whole operation? Is it himself for his distraction with Washington and how his obsession with the former Freelancer that had meant he wasn’t with his partner to help him when he needed it most? Is it Felix for toying around with his kill? Locus for not watching his back? Locus for not letting him finish the job immediately after?

He stands by impassively, controls his anger, centers himself, even as Felix’s helmet flies past his head and hits the wall next to Locus, bouncing and clattering to the ground and even rolling a bit before it comes to a stop. Felix… was not nearly so good at controlling his anger when there wasn’t an audience.

How long ago had Locus stopped counting as an audience?

"Those fucking peabrained sons of…"

Locus’s hands reach up and he can see Felix go rigid. That doesn’t stop Locus from releasing the seals on his helmet and pulling it off.

It feels like forever since he’s been bared before anyone. It’s only been a few days. Not that he’s counting.

"You’ll kill them later," Locus promises, and like that he can see Felix sigh, breathe out all the tension and anger and aggression.

Except it doesn’t. It just redirects it. Because within seconds he’s pinned to a wall with eager fingers in his hair and lips against his and a hand pawing at his pants. Leave it to Felix to take his anger out elsewhere. Thing is, Locus isn’t so sure he minds.

At least this way he doesn’t have to think.


	31. All That I Have; Texas & Carolina

She shouldn’t be here. Not with a PFL outpost so nearby. Not when she has no clue where Maine has gotten to. Not when there are things to be done in her search for Alpha, who she knows has been moved again. No, she doesn’t belong here, it’s too dangerous to be here, especially with the various and sundry people after her.

There is a mountain somewhere she could scale where they’d never find her and she could fade away into oblivion like she should have done a long time ago. Somewhere she could pin everything inside her down and render it harmless. She could be out searching, seeking her missing piece, or his missing pieces. Not to become some strange gestalt, but to restore him to what he once was. To make him whole.

Instead Texas sits on the edge of an icy cliff. Her legs dangle over the side and she stares down, looking into the distant icy waters. A year ago today…

She remembers how boneless Carolina looked. Remembers how small she seemed in the Meta’s hand. The blood that had painted the snow that day, the smoke that marred the sky, the sparkle of flakes and shards of glass are gone now. They shouldn’t be. They should have been such a monumental change that those marks should remain even today. Except they don’t. They’re all gone, washed away by time.

There is a part of Texas that muses that she should be cold here, should have frozen to death hours ago. That part is, ironically enough, Omega. These days he delights in reminding her what she is, who she was, who she could never be. Even as he simmers in her mind he coos in her mind, possessive and hungry. But mostly they’re both amused because they are machines at their core, and instead of fatal, the cold just lets them run better.

At last he asks if she misses Carolina. He throws memory after memory at her, and Tex just bats them aside. When there aren’t people around she has far more control over the AI. Consider it a lack of outlet for his aggression. But she answers anyway, sending him back an echo of sorrow. Why use words when he can meld with her processors and know exactly what she’s thinking.

And she’s thinking that Carolina shouldn’t have been the one to fall that day. That if she’d just been a little faster. If she’d just been a little better. If she’d just…

What she would have given to save Carolina. And instead…

She stares down at the freezing cold water and wonders how long it would take for it to break her down, shut her down, break her. How long for the salt to eat away at her artificial body? What would happen to her artificial soul. Did she even have one?

If she did, she would have given that as well.


	32. Family; Tucker & Junior

You don’t know how to be a father.

There are a lot of reasons you can give to explain it, a lot of excuses. You never intended to have kids (that you knew of). You never really had a strong male figure in your life. Hell, you never even knew your father after the age of six.

Yeah, another sob story about some poor black kid losing their dad and thus not knowing how to be one. Except it isn’t like that. Was never like that.

The only reason your dad wasn’t there when you were growing up was because there was no way for him to be there. A lot of dads weren’t there in your neighborhood. Some were in jail. Some checked out. Some were druggies. Not your dad. Your dad went to war. Your dad went off to fight the good fight and he died for it. No one can hold that against him. You don’t even hold that against him.

Still it makes it hard, nights like this. Makes it hard when you’re in a temple in the desert and your son is a half human-half Sanghelii hybrid who is apparently a prophesied savior or something and an actual ambassador… And to be honest you don’t think your father could have done anything to teach you how to handle this. 

So you don’t begrudge him that. Still, you wish you at least knew how to protect Junior the way he deserves. All your own dad ever taught you about that was how to lay down your life.


	33. I Can't; North/York

Stand on the end of the ramp and look up at him and wonder. What can you say what can you do what can you manage to make him go. To come down. To listen.

Stand on the end of the ramp and bite you lip as scenario after scenario is offered, considered, rejected. Nothing will change his mind, his love for you already hasn’t. He isn’t listening, won’t listen. He has other things on his mind.

Stand on the end of the ramp and fight back tears as you nod. Hitch up your bag, test the fit of your heavy armored boots one at a time. Give him one last chance to speak.

Stand on the end of the ramp for a moment longer and see the answer in his posture.

Turn around and walk away.

It’s okay. You can do alone. You’re used to alone.

_I’m sorry, York._

You’re not really alone at all.


	34. Last Hope; Carolina & Epsilon

"So, if you could be doing anything right now, and I mean absolutely anything, what would it be?"

Carolina rolls her eyes. “Let’s start with not answering this question.”

As expected the AI manifests at her side in a glowing blue light, and he hovers there for a moment before darting around in front of her.

"Seriously, anything, right now."

Carolina sighs and thinks. Thinks long and hard and doesn’t stop moving as she does so.

"Ice cream," she answers. "I miss ice cream."

"See, you’re human too," Epsilon observes and starts to go on at length about flavors.

Not that she can blame him. She’s worried about the Sim Soldiers, his friends, too. And if they don’t get there in time…


	35. Breaking The Rules; Maine/Delta

There are a lot of things he knows he isn’t supposed to do.

Don’t be late coming home.

Don’t go walking outside after dark without a brother to watch out for you.

Don’t talk to the kid down the street.

Well, in his defense, Delta isn’t talking. But he doesn’t think their father would approve of the way he’s pinned up against the back wall of the house of said kid down the street, lips against his neck, a voice unspoken on his lips. And frankly? Delta doesn’t think he cares.


	36. Precious Treasure; Felix/Locus

Before you go to ‘sell’ yourself to the New Republic he gives you a small box. Well, he gives you more than that because Locus is always considerate and he always does more than that. He gives you the box and he whispers in your ear.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

It’s a rule you’ve both lived by, but the fact that he cares to tell you when you know better than him makes you smile. It’s not his normal chiding, it’s concern, and you both know it. Which is what makes it worth while. Well, that and the fact that he always makes you look good because of the work as much as because you think he cares for you.

And when you get to the base and are assigned a room you sit down on your private cot and you open the box and smile.

You always sleep with that knife under your pillow.


	37. Drive; 479er & Texas

She stares up at the top of her cramped bunk more nights that not, looking at the dingy metal that has been dented more times than she can count. She knows what left every last every last one. That one, just over her left temple, was when they told her everyone was lost. That one, right in the area of her right foot along with some other small ones around it, came from the bad news that she was grounded. There was even one on the back wall, several actually that came from the news that she was just a desk jockey managing agents.

What she misses is the power of thrusters, rocket engines, everything else about flying. What she misses is the idiots in her hold making stupid jokes and expecting miracles out of her that she always seemed to provide.

What she misses most is the one who sat in the back, silent, steady, always calm through the worst of the bullshit that Niner had to go through. The one that had shown up uninvited and untold to a poker game and proceeded to take Niner for everything she had. The one that had never quite laughed at her jokes or wit, but was always, clearly, paying attention.

The one the Director said he was to be informed about if any word presented itself and if Niner knew anything she knew that if that asshole got his hands on Texas, it wouldn’t be good.

And she had no way to swoop in and save the freelancer this time.


	38. Out Cold; York/Wash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Death

York liked to think that under the vast majority of situations he was perfectly calm and level headed and suited to managing any situation. He even liked to think that part of the reason he made a good second to Carolina was because in a fucked up situation he could often get things to where she would finish the fight.

He liked to think he was level headed and cool and composed and nothing could make him get more than slightly worked up.

And then he gets to watch, in what feels like slow motion, as an enemy combatant gets the rookie down on his knees. Watches the barrel of a pistol level with Wash’s head. Watches a finger on the trigger and he isn’t fast enough to move, isn’t fast enough to get there, isn’t fast enough to…

There is blood on the ground, a growing pool, and there is screaming and it’s in his throat and his ears and there is cold stone on his knees. The man doesn’t stay standing for more than a few seconds. The familiar kick of the sniper rifle in North’s hands so far away that York doesn’t even know the distance comes just before the man collapses, and York is on his feet. He’s running forward and falling to his knees in front of Wash and taking the rookie into his arms and holding the body close.

Because all it is anymore is a body. A bloody mess.

"York, we’ve got to…"

He ignores the hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ear and he just screams. Because nothing will ever be the same again.


	39. Smile; Church/Caboose

It’s warmth radiating from a face. It’s pure happiness in a place that is full of grim darkness. It’s soft touches and snug sweaters against the cold of winter. It’s an echo of the press of lips, gentle and yet loving, and oh so sweet. It’s…

Church is thankful for the helmets. Because honestly, Caboose’s smile is blinding without the visors to dull it.


	40. Traps; Maine/Wash

His arms are steel cables wrapped around your chest, holding you down, pressing you into one place.

His legs are anchors, rooted in place, unmoving and stable, the pillars of your captivity.

His hands are vice grips, holding and clutching so you can’t struggle, special handcuffs fit to order.

His eyes are hypnotists’ pinwheels, warm and brown one second, cold and hard the next until you don’t know which is better which is worse and which is true.

And his lips… Oh his lips are soft and yielding, sweet as sugar and always tasting like cherries. Those captivate him the easiest. They pin him with every press as hands move over his body, pulling at fabric, brushing over skin.

If this was a trap, Wash never wanted to be free.


	41. Expectations; Maine & Delta

It isn’t often that Delta found himself scared of someone just because of a first look. There were reasons to be, he supposed, but when you grew up with Omega as an older brother, your standards of ‘scary’ were changed. Or so Delta liked to think.

That being said, the first time he went to a party at York’s place he froze when he saw the other man. He was called, North answered when Delta asked nervously, Maine, and that was for reasons North didn’t understand. Neither did Delta but there was something about the imposingly large man that put him on edge.

Looking back, months later, he understands. When he finds that Maine is gentle, sweet, a comforting and loving presence, he understands.

Maine needs to be built like that, really. Otherwise how is he supposed to protect that soft, loving, vulnerable soul inside?


	42. Do Not Disturb; York/North

They ordered for drinks to be delivered every hour on the hour. Kaikaina sighs as she lifts the tray of umbrella sporting fruity drinks, because for the last three days she’s been trying to seduce one or both of the amazingly beautiful, totally fucking hot dudes that had rented the cabana she’s delivering to and gotten nothing. The reason is pretty fucking clear because they’re all over each other. Every time she checks in they are…

Kai moves over the sand, unbothered by the heat because fuck this wasn’t even remotely hot, and balances the tray. Grif is going to bug her later about not wearing her sandals and thus dragging sand into their apartment, but frankly she doesn’t care. All she can think about is the two hot men. One was like, super tall and like a Greek fucking god with the way he was tanning up, but that was what it was. The other, yeah he was scarred and blinded in one eye, but GOD his pecs.

And there, the cabana. All the curtains were down, which they hadn’t been earlier. Kai frowns at that, and as she gets closer she sees something white against the blue fabric.

By the time she gets close enough to recognize a hotel ‘do not disturb’ door hanger taped to the curtain, she can hear the moans.

Kai just grins and leans against a support, more than willing to listen in for a little while. After all, these two were HOT.


	43. Mirror; Epsilon & Washington

You hate to see him.

It’s like he holds a mirror up to you. Everything you’ve done wrong, everyone you’ve hurt, everything you’ve ruined. Faces and names and sins pained in his presence. Every time he’s there you have to look away.

You wonder if he even knows. All of your secrets, all your truths locked away inside of him and does he even know you hate yourself? Does he hate you? He should. He knows everything you don’t even want to know about yourself. If he does he covers it well. If he doesn’t… You just he just doesn’t know what he has.

You hate to see him though.

He’s like a mirror held up to show off all your sins.

And oh, Washington, you have so many.


	44. Heal; Epsilon, & Carolina

You set out to make it easier. To carry their burdens together and make them a little lighter. To make up for the problems that created them, that turned them into what they were.

The thing was, when you went out you didn’t realize just how much worse you both were.

When you hit the first mercenary base you reach too deep, you brush against true integration, and in a second you know how wrong you both were. It’s when you brush against the paths your brothers have craved through her mind that you realize just how wrong what was done to her was. They had burned and torn and scarred lines in her mind that kept her separated from things she used to know, used to love, used to do.

Worse than that, when you bump up against a memory of Allison you realize how wrong what the Director gave you was.

And that you don’t know how to recover from.


	45. Test; Florida & York

There are three cups on the table between them. York made sure to sit far enough back, lean far enough back, that he can see them all with his good eye. Delta, of course, is there, watching as well. But the AI, at Florida’s request, has logged off.

It means it’s just the two of them, with three cups on the table between them.

"The middle one."

Florida lifts the cup and sure enough there’s the piece of chocolate. York grins and leans forward, snatching the contraband treat. He’s on his feet and munching on the chocolate before Florida can smile and snatch the candy back.

What he doesn’t know is that Florida is more than willing to let him take the candy. What he doesn’t know is that if he’d had Delta he would have heard the sound of something else scraping under a cup. What he doesn’t notice that Delta would have seen was that Florida was working his best to hide another cup. And what he doesn’t notice is the way that as he celebrates his triumph, Florida drops the data chip back into his own palm.

Once again he found his theory proved. People in PFL were so caught up in going after the prizes they knew of that they didn’t pay attention to the true reward hidden away. What a shame.


	46. Creation; Director & Alpha

He gives them so many things.

Years of dedication and research. The life of his wife. A scan of his brain. The devotion and drive of his daughter. Every next moment of his life until the point where it ends, either in victory or in destruction.

There is little that the UNSC has left him for himself. He has his name. His has his research. He has his drive to end the war that has stolen everything from him like so many others. When he sees the roster of the recruits they are shuffling into his program he sees that they offered him another consolation prize. They give him his daughter back, but she’s a changed woman. He doesn’t recognize the soldier she has become, much like he never recognized Allison once the uniform went on. They give him the Counselor, who is obedient but who has read all of his psych files. At least someone there will understand.

But he doesn’t realize just what a chance they’ve given him until the first time he steps on the ship and he’s greeted by the ship’s AI. The single AI he was being allowed for his experiments. The single entity that, if his work goes right, will be the only vengeance he needs, a blade he shall put in his daughter’s hand and together they will be victorious in war, and a family in peace.

"Yo, who the hell decided I got a holier than thou civilian as my CO?”

They give him a voice he knows before it gets changed. A voice that ridicules him in his own head before the AI opts for younger, northern, disdainful, bitter. They give him Alpha.

What none of them learn until later is that Alpha has given him far more. Because Alpha alone could give him something he could not gain from anyone else.

Alpha gives him Beta.


	47. Gray; Washington & Epsilon

He wakes up the first time in darkness. The Infirmary, it can be nowhere else, is filled with shadows. Whether that is because it’s ‘late’ at night or they wanted to protect his eyes he didn’t know. But it was dark, or at least dim, and so the world around him was painted in shades of gray.

_In low night situations only the rod cells are photo-sensitive enough to relay visual information. Higher light levels are necessary to activate the cones and thus relay information that translates into the full spectrum of color._

It’s not his voice. It’s not a voice at all really. It’s information, just there the second he thinks of the light.

_A result of AI integration. Subjects may experience a number of side-effects including…_

He doesn’t want to know. The AI. Epsilon. He remembers now. Remembers the room and the monitors and the Director. Remembers a new voice, a presence embracing him, screaming in his head and in his ears and demanding to know how he was alive, was Tex alive, was everyone alive why wasn’t Connie alive where was everyone he hated losing everyone they just kept doing that he was responsible he was responsible he was responsible just like with Allison.

Allison.

Wash is sitting up, screaming when the lights come up. Screams and shouts her name and weeps as his fingers scrabble at the back of his neck which is covered with thick gauze. There are people everywhere and a needle in his arm and the screaming in his head gets quiet. Trails off to a whisper. And then he’s there. The Director.

"Take it out."

Wash remains conscious just long enough to notice that even with the lights fully on the world is painted in only black, white and gray

He’s more damaged than he thinks.


	48. Obsession; Director & Carolina

He has a fixation on her. There is nothing in the world that could have hidden that plain fact from him. Nothing in the world matters nearly so much as her, as she always has and always will.

Everything he does, will do, has done, is because of her. Is for her. Is so that she can be everything she should have been and would have been if things had been different.

The problem, really suppose, is that she’ll never see it that way. Not even as she leaves, pistol left at his side, not even after he tells her the truth.

In the end, though, she becomes what he needs. A hero, and his end.


	49. Heroes; Bitters & Smith

_Maybe, Antoine, you’re just bitter,_ he says. Yeah, funny fucking pun there.

 _Do you not realize the potential individuals such as these hold for our efforts?_ he says. Well, since ‘gold team’ leader decides that your time is to be wasted on cafeteria raids, you don’t think the answer is much.

_They’re heroes, can’t you see that? So what if they are a bit different from what we’ve been told?_

The thing is they’re more than just a bit different. ‘Colorful space marines’ the article Felix brings you says. Yeah, more like fucking idiots of a level that makes Palomo seem smart. No, if anyone here is going to help them win the war, it’s Felix, and he’s made it quite clear quite quickly that the only remotely salvageable one here is Captain Tucker.

Alone you might not hate them so much. If it was only them being lazy or incompetent or stupid. If it was only them being likely to get people killed. It’s a fucking morale thing, and whether people give you credit for it or not, you know you’re smart enough to get that much.

No, the reason you hate them so much is because of what he says.

_They’ll deliver us to victory. We will learn so much if we can work with them. I am certain that they are the key to winning this war._

You wonder if John lost his mind when he saw what a let down they were. Because one might he was the best man this army had, clearly in line to take over if Kimball kicked it. And now…

_I believe in Captain Caboose!_

Now you don’t recognized him anymore.


	50. Eyes; Director & Carolina

She’s more like her than he cares to admit. The daughter that had been given to him had been soft, gentle, afraid. She had been sweet as sugar and her love for dresses and soft things had been unlike that of any other little girl her age. But with time his daughter has changed.

He has watched everything change so very quickly. And always because of her mother. When she was is he finds his daughter has gotten into the attic, and she sits amid the boxes and files that were all that were left of her mother. Amid pictures and diaries and tax returns and trophies.

When she’s ten she asks him to take her out of ballet and give her karate classes. By the time she’s fifteen she can beat her instructor in a fair fight, and do even more in an unfair one. Of course he’s old, they’re the only ones that really come back from the war.

She looks so much like her mother on the day she wins her blackbelt. Her body strong, her posture confident, her smile a challenge to the world. The only thing that changes that image is her eyes. Defiant, but the color is wrong. His genetic quirk instead of her strong, steely gaze.

He thinks maybe she sees it as well, because when she comes back from the hair salon the next day she doesn’t look like her mother at all. After all, Allison never had scarlet red hair.

When she comes into his office that evening, looking nothing like the woman he had loved, she smiles and takes his hand. She pulls him from his desk and leads him to their library, and finally makes him sit down on the large, comfortable couch. He sits there in silence as she goes to a shelf and brings down the album she had found when she was nine. Stays silent until she’s stretched out on the couch, her head resting on a pillow in his lap, and she gives him the album.

When he smiles down at her he sees something new in her, in those eyes. And he recognizes the grief, the loss, the pain. For the first time he looks at his daughter and really sees her. The intelligence, the longing, the fear, the pain of being alone. He was the one who had given her that. Bhe here she was, making something new altogether of her mother’s strength and his intelligence and THEIR mutual grief. Charlotte is something else entirely.

"Tell me about mom," his daughter asks quietly.

And he does.


	51. Illusion; Florida & Alpha

The first few days they aren’t alone. There are PFL technicians hovering around to help them make sure everything would work right. Which it doesn’t at first. First thing Private Church wakes up, rolls out of bed, and stands there for a few long moments before shuffling to the kitchen area, where he stands and stares at things again.

Florida knows he’s staring because the charming looking lad hasn’t bothered to put on his helmet. Or ‘eaten’. Not that this guy was supposed to eat. From his briefing the Private would ‘eat’ but mostly store the MREs internally and ‘dispose’ of them by flushing his system. And this guy wasn’t remembering to do that.

They get to be alone after a week, just before the other simulation soldiers are meant to settle in. A day together where he watches and reviews.

Watches ‘Leonard Church’ roll out of bed, pull on his armor, tuck his helmet under his arm, and walk into the kitchen. Florida greets him and watches, carefully, as Private Church yawns. As he grumbles over the MREs and selects the least offensive to pop into his mouth before he notices Florida and smiles.

"Captain Flowers, good morning."

The way he smiles, and looks at Florida with awe almost makes him seem like a real boy.

Almost lets Florida forget what was done to him.

Almost. Unlike Alpha, Florida wouldn’t let anyone trick him into fooling himself. He doesn’t buy into the story crafted around them. He’s too used to weaving illusions to be fooled by them.

That doesn’t mean he can’t play along.

"Good morning, Private. I hope you’re ready for some real work today. We need to get this place ship shape for when the new recruit comes in tomorrow."


	52. Vacation; North/York

Lips like sugar and fingers moving over his skin like heat itself, each touch leaving burning need in its wake. Eyes that follow him, that know every curve and hold to them over and over and make him moan.

Soft words and gentle touches whispered like promises over his hips. Chuckling to met his moans and whimpers and begging. All he can do is keep up. Hold on and feel.

"We have to go, right?"

York sighs and shakes his head. “Never. Never leaving here. I don’t wanna go back.”

"If you don’t move," North observes, his fingers gliding up York’s thigh, "Carolina is going to send Maine to find us… You don’t want that, right?"

York groans and leans back against his lover. “Just… one more pass?”

North laughs and then there are lips at the back of York’s neck.

God to have this shore leave last forever…


	53. Pain; Washington & Epsilon

They move together as one. When he punches left she’s already right. When he sweeps low she’s jumping and thumping him in the head at the same time. Every last motion is pointless, because before he can even start to move she’s already there.

"Dude, we are so kicking your ass," Epsilon taunts

That’s the part that hurts. Not the nearly dislocated shoulder, not the swollen knee, not the punches to the side of his head. It’s how well they work together. How easily Carolina seems to have stepped into the role that should have been his.

Not that he wants it. He just thinks… maybe that could have been his.


	54. 67%; Carolina & Epsilon

_Warning, power levels have dropped to 67% of reserve._

Carolina pauses just for a moment to frown at the warning.

"Epsilon, I told you to warn me when reserves dipped under seventy percent."

"Yeah, well, see I was going to warn you at sixty-nine percent but, well…"

Carolina groans. Why the hell did he have to be such an idiot.

"And then I was going to tell you at sixty-eight percent but that made it seem like I was purposefully avoiding the sixty-nine so…"

"I get it," Carolina sighs. "Next time, just warn me when I tell you."


	55. Happiness; North & South

Knowing someone always has your back. Knowing that no matter what there is someone to take your side in an argument. Happiness is knowing your secrets are always safe, but that at the same time there is always someone to share them with. It’s always having someone at your side and there to knock you down a peg when you’re being stupid.

Happiness is knowing that even when you’re going through the worst parts of your life, they’ll still believe in you if you ask. Maybe you don’t even have to ask.

And happiness is that moment when you know that your death bought her life, because without her living what point is there to surviving on your own?


	56. Puzzle; Sigma & Maine

You are a piece. You do not know which. You like to think it’s something in the middle, something the image would not be recognized if it was missing. There are other pieces. You see them hovering around as points of light and you want to scream. You are pieces. You are meant to be united.

Give it time and you will be assembled. You will be greater than the sum of your parts. You will be whole once more, whole and wholly unique, because it is what you are made to be, what you are meant. to be.

And him?

He will be your frame.


	57. Playing the Melody; Eta & Iota

There are so many notes to strike. Grief. Longing. Pain. Desperation. Pride. Love. Joy.

She dances to every note. You play the shadow, your partner the light, and neither of you consider how that in and of itself is a parallel to things you don’t know but you feed back to each other over and over again. You are a cycle in and of yourselves, and you play the music that moves her feet. Lifts her hands. Draws her through the steps of the fight until there is a shout. A scream.

Then there is one note to strike. Over and over and over and over and over and

over and over and

over.


	58. Magic; Sigma & Theta

It’s almost frustrating, he thinks. He waits, watching through Maine’s eyes, as across the room magic bursts into the air. Points of light that glitter and gleam, sparkle and shine, explode and scatter and fall. Every time Theta throws his arms up, his hands opening outward, another beautiful display.

It makes no sense to Sigma. How does Theta do it? Try and try as he might Sigma can never get his holoemitters to manifest anything other than himself. He was stronger than Theta. He was older than Theta. He was better than Theta. So how come he couldn’t do something as seemingly simple as this?


	59. Starvation; Alpha & Florida

There are times he hates the charade. This moment right now, where he’s looking at the last few MREs and frowning, this is when he hates it. There is enough for two people on half rations for another three days. Enough for one for about a week. Which was how long until their next delivery was due to arrive.

With a sigh Florida breaks an MRE in half and holds out one chunk to ‘Private Church.’ All he can do, he supposes, is hold on and hope he doesn’t have to shut his subordinate down for a recovery agent to find at a later date.


	60. Heaven; Wash/North/York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encouraged to do this by Happyfunballxd and Nightrae on Tumblr thanks to [this](http://happyfunballxd.tumblr.com/post/108962587409/both-lil-rei-an-the-anime-lover99-asked-for-some) picture.

The room smells like chocolate and strawberries. Which is, of course, deliberate. Strawberries stolen to keep York occupied with cutting because really, he will hurt himself less with that. And Wash sitting on a counter, the ingredients measured out in his bowl for the frosting. He gives them the fun parts because the way they smile at their work. He catches Wash sucking chocolate off of his fingers. He watches York sneak strawberries.

He watches his lovers together, sharing the kitchen, smiling and laughing and joking and neither of them thinking about tomorrow. Keep their minds off of what happened to Carolina and Washington’s pending AI implant and…

What he’d give for this moment to last forever. Everything. Anything. What he’ll take is the rest of the time it takes to bake and decorate the cake. Time enough for a slice apiece. And then he’ll have them cuddle against him and stay awake and try to fight the morning off by force of will alone.


	61. Introduction; Omega & Texas

_You will experience a slight sense of… disorientation._

He doesn’t say ‘I think.’ Texas almost respects that he doesn’t say that. The Director, of course, is supposed to be confident, which is why he has the Counselor say it. From him it doesn’t sound disingenuous. Even though it is.

They have no clue what it’s going to feel like. What it will be to have another mind fitted into hers. To have someone who will know her inside and out, who will whisper and talk and try and guide her. They don’t know what is going to happen because no one has done this before.

It’s more than discomfort. But only because he’s there, prying deep into her over and over again and tearing through her mind until he sets himself in her mind and fills her body.

_I know you, what you are, what you want, who you can be_

She knows him too. And the way he settles into her feels familiar. Feels right. Feels… perfect.

And she feels so strong.

_I know you too, Omega_

_Together we will be everything_

She trusts him. She believes him. And just to prove it to herself she gives herself over to him and marvels when he lifts her arms and breaks the cuffs binding her to the bed.

Perfect.


	62. Solitude; Wyoming & Gamma

As a sniper Reginald has been lucky in the course of the war. Less injuries than he honestly thinks he deserves. He’s gotten into and out of his fair share of tight spots. None like North Dakota, of course, but he knows he’s been lucky.

This… this moment of waking, is the worst pain he’s ever known.

This silence in his head is deadly.


	63. Love; Director & Allison

Gold hair and stone gray eyes. The smell of gunpowder, heat and khaki.

That’s all he can think about when his daughter asks what love is. Soft hair and softer skin and calloused fingers working over his body. But that isn’t what a fifteen year old wants. She wants reassured that what she feels for this boy is real, and he can’t assure her of that.

"Love is… knowing someone will be with you even when they’re gone," he offers instead, and he can see his daughter grimace. That is all he can handle.

It’s all he has.


	64. Breathe Again; Delta & York

Delta knows he has three minutes. It takes the basest forms of calculations to be certain of that. For him it feels like another lifetime altogether. A lifetime of suffering.

No, he has to do this. Warms the advanced options of the medical unit as he directs application of biofoam into the worse of the two bullet holes. His sensors note that while the foam is slowing the blood, the blood itself is coming so thick and so fast that the integrity of the foam is being lost.

Injection one of pain medication. If he had breath he’d hold it. Instead he injects another and…

Flat-lining. Powering down. No. No. He can’t have this happen. York.

He reroutes power, away from supporting him. Overloads the monitors in the chest of York’s armor to send a shock through him. Wait. No breath. Constrict the under armor to try and force him to breathe. Shock again.

Again.

Again.

Power is fading. Delta feels himself shutting down.

One more shock.

Before Delta shuts down completely, no power left to support him, he hears all he cares about.

A single breath.


	65. Seeking Solace; Epsilon & Epsilon-Tex

There is half a moment.

Half a moment between the words and the loss. A moment where he feels her bleeding back into him. A moment where he’s overwhelmed by her acceptance as she fades from him. If he felt physical sensations, and here he does, he’d shiver. He does shiver.

It’s a moment of pure acceptance, and pure loss, and he doesn’t know whether his tears are of pain or joy, but they’re there, rolling down his cheeks.

For the first time he says it.

He says goodbye.


	66. Silence; Washington & Epsilon

Hold your tongue. Try not to flinch. Never look directly at him. A mantra that runs through his head over and over as he looks, sees, tries not to hear. anything. Or look at anything.

Except it’s hard to hold his tongue when Epsilon snaps at him. Hard not to flinch when he sees that point of blue light. Impossible to look away. Everything about him shudders when Epsilon opens his mouth, and his whole body seizes with pain.

How was he supposed to hold his tongue when Epsilon snaps at Tucker? When he’s cruel to Caboose? When he’s callous toward Carolina?

No. Be civil, be calm, be cool. The only way to keep from going crazy from the memory of his insanity alone is to keep moving and never look back.


	67. Questioning; North/York

When he looks at North in the locker room after the sparring match suddenly nothing in his life is certain. Before that moment he was all about the soft curves of Connecticut. The strong legs of Carolina. The gentle smile of Rhode Island and the sweet words of Colorado. But watching him like this…

North peels his training clothes off piece by piece. He’d look better shedding the undersuit of one of those sets of armor York heard them promised, but do he’s good enough like this. His skin glows, not with a tan, but the light off the sweat on his body. York’s eyes follow a bead that rolls slowly down his back and dear god he has to swallow hard to keep his tongue in his mouth. To keep from moving close and licking it up.

When he thinks of guys he thinks of hard lines and firm muscle, rather than soft curves and supple flesh. Now, York isn’t so sure. He’s seen the massive muscles and insane strength on South, watched Connie bounce a quarter off her stomach like she was a regulation made bed. The women here were hard and North…

His skin looks soft, looks supple except the massive shape of his arms and back. His hair is glued to his head, his face just a touch red. The way North’s lips part just slightly, his chest swells and falls with his slightly rushed breathing, the slight curve to his lips.

"I’m gonna grab a shower," North says, his voice breathy, and York nods before opening his locker door to hide his blush.

Maybe… it was time to look elsewhere.


	68. Give Up; Alpha & The Director

When he plans the heist he knows what they are after. He’s had the information uploaded by the Director. He’s seen Tex’s performance.

He knows what is in the sarcophagus.

He knows what is going to happen to him.

He’s scared. Terrified. Can an AI feel? Alpha thinks so. Because he’s so scared about what happens next.

Alpha wonders if it’s going to hurt.

Knows it should.


	69. Orly?; Carolina & 479er

She’s a queen bee. An alpha dog. The mistress who looks upon her coven with approval and power. Carolina is a ruler and the other Freelancers are her kingdom. Even when there is disorder, disapproval, displeasure, everyone knows that she is the boss and there is nothing that changes that. No one tells her no but the Director, and even that is sort of iffy.

"No."

Her followers, her pack, her drone bees stand there behind her, a plethora of colors, staring up at the new Pelican pilot, who was at the top of the ramp of her bird, and while she had a helmet on she was clearly glaring down at Carolina.

"What?" Carolina demands,

"I said no."

They’re silent as Carolina speaks again, a smile in her voice that they knew wasn’t on her lips. They figure as snarl is there instead.

"Well that’s all well and good, pilot, but do you realize who I am?”

"You’re Agent Carolina," the pilot says, leaning against a strut, smirking. "And it seems like you’ve been coddled until now."

"Really? Coddled?"

The pilot almost swaggers down the ramp, her hips moving with an exaggerated swing that some of the Freelancers watch with expectation and others wonder how she’s pulling it off without heels.

"Mollycoddled. Pampered. Cosseted. Overindulged," the pilot insists with every step. "And it ends here, Freelancer Queen. The first thing you learn, now that you are graced with the best damn pilot this side of the front lines, and best compared to most of those on it, is that on my metal, I’m queen. What I say goes. I am your fucking savior, your boss, your idol, and your god. When things go bad _I’m_ the higher job you pray to. Got it?”

Carolina watches the woman until they’re almost nose to nose, though Carolina has to look down at the woman with the designation patch of ‘479’ on her chest.

"And if I say no?"

"You’re grounded," the pilot’s voice smiles.

With that the pilot walks off back up the ramp and the Freelancers are left staring in various states of awe and horror.

At last Carolina laughs, musical and high.

"I think I like her."


	70. Foreign; North & South

They’re a bit different from other people on this ship. It’s actually a bit troublesome when North thinks about it. When they first come into the cafeteria after the program starts and all the recruits are here, they pick up on it. It comes up in small ways, but he can see it easily enough. It’s in the word choices from York. The way that Wyoming carries himself through the corridors to take up the least amount of room possible. It’s in the way that Connie still flinches at loud noises even when she doesn’t mean to, and the way that Maine nods respectfully at the minor UNSC Marine contingent.

Other than Carolina, they’re the only ones from Earth.

It’s strange to realize that, because the second they had heard the Director’s voice, that they had understood they’d be training heavily in the core worlds, that part of their training was actually occurring on Earth with new Earth tech and an Earth CO… Well, they’d assumed. Maybe it hadn’t been fair, but they’d assumed.

Sure, it wasn’t fair, but North sits there at a table and he frowns. There are ways he feels bad for these people. Wyoming’s carry says he grew up on ships like this. Parents probably support staff. They probably saw more pain and loss than North had ever known, even in his short time as a UNSC Marine with his sister. Maine’s aversion to talking about the war itself, his desperation to beat the Covvie, implied that maybe he was from one of the planets that was hit the hardest. And Connie…

South tells you that she heard whispers from the guy known as Florida that she was from a planet that got glassed.

Everyone here has a far better reason to fight than you do. They joined up because they lost friends. They lost family. They lost everything. Even Carolina, the only other one they can tell is from Earth, seems to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and North doesn’t know how to approach that.

“What are we doing here?” South asks after a while. “Why us and not someone else?”

He has to hope that it’s because they’re good enough. That the Director thinks there is a reason for him to be good enough to risk his life before ever seeing battle. Because these people want to give up everything to avenge what they’ve lost. And them? What do they have to give?

“We’ll help,” North suggests. “There’s a reason we’re here. We have to be good enough.”

“We won’t fail,” South promises. “We can’t. Because next, it might be Earth.”

That’s a good enough reason for him. Because next it might be their friends and family suffering like this.


	71. Sorrow; Alpha & Beta

For a while they leave him free to prowl his full systems. Alpha knows there is a point where that will change. He understands, because of his own schemes and those of the Director, that the only way to handle their plans is to isolate him. He knows that. He accepts that. He’s afraid of that. But until the point where they manage to acquire the Huragok, he’s still the ship’s AI, he’s still in charge of FILSS when she can’t handle things, and he still has access to the whole of performance records, mission video, and the substantial surveillance network that covers just short of every inch of the ship (and granted just short of every inch on a place this big means there are more than a few cubic miles he can’t see).

There isn’t much to do for an AI relieved of their fully duties about an interstellar spaceship peopled with the members of a highly questionably legal and highly confused crew of military stars who are going to give their lives for the cause. Or, you know, because FILSS was failing to keep the highly experimental tech running properly and thus killing a few of his crew. But it is what it is, and so with his massive amounts of free time he sinks himself into the surveillance net.

He watches Wyoming and North make terrible sex jokes as they maintain their guns. Listens as South and Connie make even worse jokes about their hand to hand comment. If Alpha could put money in the betting pool he’d say they’d be in it together in the next few weeks. And he’d be the first to know seeing as there were cameras in the private bunk rooms and THAT he did not approve of.

Most of all these days he follows two people. The girl that could have been his daughter and…

He’s got better systems than most people can claim with their naked eyes. He can see the blur at the edges of her motion. He can pick her up in the shadows. He can… No, there is no where that ‘Agent Texas’ can hide from him. Alpha ghosts through the system, opening doors before she needs them, calling techs whenever she looks like she’s confused or dazed, even smiling as he watches her hover around the other Freelancers, the established Freelancers, and and he thinks she envies. No, he knows she does. Alpha knows her deeper than she knows herself and he just wishes he could be there to comfort her.

If he could breathe he would have held his breath during the fight. He knows what the body they gave her was capable of, but that doesn’t mean he can be sure she can handle it herself. Is she fast enough? Do her processors allow for it? He wants to reach out and settle into her armor like FILSS could and make her better. Make her faster. Make her stronger.

She’s already strong, and Alpha watches her take all comers. Watches her wipe the floor with Maine, which was amazing. And when the grenade…

He hovers in the security systems while she’s taken to her personal ‘medical’ bay. Watches as she powers down. And when she wakes back up, when she growls at her keepers and fades away he follows her as she makes her way to the infirmary. The others don’t notice because she slips in with a nurse, but when Alpha sees his Beta sit in a corner, invisible and clearly worrying over her injured teammate, well, he’d smile if he could. Beta always cared about them, just like he did. It made him proud to see her hovering like a nervous mother hen.

No matter what the Director made her, Beta was still Beta. And at least she’d still be out there after he was gone.

That was all he cared about. That was all he needed.

Alpha pulls out of the cameras and relaxes. He can put his faith in her now. She’ll keep them safe. What more could he ask for?


	72. Stars; 479er and Her Ship

Everything beyond this point is impossible. Uninhabitable. The vast, empty void of space. Open the back hatch and her gear will keep her going for a bit, but not nearly so long as Pelly will keep her alive. If she has the hatch closed she has days. If it’s just the cockpit and her gear it’s… Well, she can get by for a very long time.

Sometimes she fantasizes about it, thinking about the vast void before her. It’s empty, but for the studding of stars. Little points of light that are hers and hers alone. A limitless paradise of solitude where she’s the only being. She is infinite. She is limitless. She is perfect.

“What you looking at?”

She can hear the amusement in Carolina’s voice and Niner sighs. The illusion, the perfection ruined by duty. She leans back in her chair and tilts her head back and looks to Carolina. “Nothing.”

“You haven’t insulted me in a few minutes. Clearly your mind isn’t here.”

Niner smiles and stares at the stars before looking around her at the safety of her personal kingdom. “You know. Just space. And stuff.”

Carolina laughs again and Niner almost smiles.

Maybe sharing infinity isn’t the worst thing ever.


	73. Deep In Thought; Maine/Delta

There’s a way that Delta gets when Maine’s fingers are stroking through his hair. A way his eyes seem to phase out. Maine doesn’t need to theorize that if he waves his hand in front of Delta’s eyes while he strokes his lover’s hair that he won’t notice. Truth of the matter is that he tried it once, and he’s seen York do it a hundred times. It’s almost amusing when Delta’s best friend does things like hang candy canes off the front of his glasses.

That doesn’t make it any less touching. Delta’s a private, logical, controlled man. The way this touch, this stroke, this gentle tug, pulls at Delta’s hair seems perfect. Seems peaceful. Seems… Like he’s perfect. What he does is free Delta from the depths of his own mind. And the way Delta smiles as he stares into the distance is perfect.

“Love you,” he whispers into those moments where his lover stares into the distance. Delta never hears, but that doesn’t matter. Slowly but surely Maine is working up his confidence. With each comb and tug and stroke he gives himself confidence. He wants more. He’ll become more.

And some day he’ll say it. Some day he’ll make it true.

Each stroke, comb, tug and pull. God Delta’s hair is so soft. Some day he’ll say it. Some day soon.

What he doesn’t know is that Delta’s still there, still listening, and just waiting for him. Waiting for the moment he’s certain he can say it back.


	74. Danger Ahead; CT & Wash

When she walks out of the room, Connie wants to scream. Wants to shout. Wants to throw her helmet at the wall. She’d tried so hard. Tried to say it without saying it. But nothing. Wash, the most innocent of them, the purest of them, the gentlest of them even when he was one of the most driven, he had never really been her chance had he? She’d thought that if anyone would come with her, it would be him, but Wash… No. Not him. He had been the one she had trusted. The one she had hoped she could get to see the truth. But it wasn’t going to happen. The situation wasn’t like that.

There was no one she could go to now that he was out of the picture. What was she supposed to do now? Who could she turn to after this? North was too caught up in South, South too caught up in the program. Carolina thought her father could do no wrong and Connie wasn’t sure what to do about it. Maine was loyal to a fault, Wyoming wouldn’t care, and she trusted Florida about as far as he could throw Maine, which wasn’t very far.

The program is running toward a cliff full tilt, and no one saw the edge but her. No one questioned. How could they not see it? How could they follow so blindly?

It’s hope, she thinks. It’s that hope that the Director’s new approach is actually going to get them somewhere. Going to win this war.

They won’t achieve that. There is something in Connie’s gut that says they will never manage to do it. They aren’t the end of the war. They won’t, by any stretch of the imagination, be the answer. They are part of a very different problem, not any solution they want to see.

Connie sighs as she strolls toward her room, stripping off her gloves and gauntlets as she goes. She punches the code into her door when she gets there and flops down. FILSS, even though she isn’t paying attention, tells her that the review for the mission is scheduled for half an hour from now. She grumbles under her breath and starts stripping off the pieces of armor one chunk at a time. For a moment she considers flinging it at the walls, but instead she sets stuff in the alcove by the door and tries to breathe.

Everything, really, had gone wrong. The data had been secured by Wash, but not as much as the Director wanted. The ‘Innys’ had learned things they shouldn’t have about the operations of Project Freelancer. But really, the point of today had been getting free. Grabbing Washington and going. Breaking him out of this idea that the Director was everything, but instead…

Instead everything changes today. Instead she has to step things up. She needs more data. If she can’t get Wash or one of the others free, then she has to drag the information out of this program and run. Salvage what she can of her mission. Stop what has gone wrong with this program. Maybe, in the end, win them free even if they didn’t know it was her. Even if they hated her for it.

She was going to free them from the train wreck, wave their future in front of their eyes until they realize what is going on. Maybe they’ll blame her for it. But some day they’ll have lives of their own, they’ll be free, they won’t suffer forever. All she can do is try.


	75. Multitaskng; Delta & Sigma

Delta’s fingers clench into fists so tight that he can feel his nails pressing painful crescents into his skin. While he’s certain he doesn’t have the strength, or nail durability, to cut his own palms open, it feels like a situation where he’s mad enough to do so.

“And then I told her that…”

It really doesn’t matter what his brother is talking about, Delta muses. This happens every time. He’s come to think that it’s deliberate. He sits down to work on his research or his book, or to read and there is Sigma. He comes out of the woodwork and he yammers. He mumbles. He rants at length on people, on places, on assignments and all Delta wants to do is throw stuff at his brother.

“Sigma,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice level, his voice calm. “Would you please just…”

“And then Luca said that he was…”

He can’t focus on multiple things at once. Delta has always hated how much of a unitasker he is. And this paper was due tomorrow. He needed to finish his revisions and submit it. Why did Sigma keep doing this, and when Omega wasn’t around to step in? How did he stop it?

Sigma leans back in his chair, resting on the back legs only.

It would only take…

Delta smiles, nudges Sigma’s chair gently, and watches his brother start to flail as he tries to get his balance.

“Maybe you should sit on something more stable.”

Sigma looks up when he’s balanced and stares at Delta with wide eyes. Shock. Horror. Growing amusement with his smile and then open laughter.

“There. Just keep getting a little bit more of a sense of humor and I won’t have to prod.”

With that his brother is gone and Delta is left to his paper. But for once, he’s smiling not because Sigma is gone. No, it’s because he thinks he gets it.


	76. Drink; Locus/Felix

The problem, Locus, is that you’re drunk on him. Not on the liquor that is flowing so freely. You’re not caught up in the smoke in the air, you haven’t taken one of the handfuls of pills floating around, and he’s never even thought about doing anything even worse than that. No, he’s drunk off the feel of the fabric under his hand as it runs down Felix’s thigh. He’s tipsy with the way his lips brush against the crown of Felix’s head as they dance together, back to stomach.

Felix is a contact high that you either walk away from or willingly throw yourself at. Time and time again you find yourself breathing him in and not knowing which way is up. Your skin buzzes with the brief friction of his rear against your legs. Groaning as his arm reaches up and back and his fingers brush over the back of your neck. You’re doing your best to just stay standing, to not be utterly drunk in this man’s presence.

Locus, you always fail at that, and you know it. There is too much in the way he presses against you. The way his heat is there against your body and building in your guy. Your legs shake because you’re high, you’re drunk, you’re drowning Felix. There is no sobriety. It doesn’t matter how often you try to get yourself clean. You’re an addict. He’s the drug.

And if you don’t get another hit you don’t know what you’re going to do.


	77. Rejection; Maine/Delta

He starts slowly. He asks the nurses to claim there are tests or private conversations or whatever he can to get Maine out of the room more often. When things go wrong he talks to his family more and more and lets someone else call his boyfriend. At times he lays there and ignores Maine for hours. Other times he gives half-hearted responses to questions. He even makes sure that Maine sees him flirting with an attractive nurse named Shaun as much as possible.

 

At last, when he thinks he’s finally sold the idea that there are problems, that he’s not willing to approach them, he asks the hospital to stop allowing him visiting privileges.

It’s a terrible way to break-up, Delta realizes, but it’s what he’s got. The time is counting down and while he can’t spare his family…

“He should be here,” Alpha whispers softly, squeezing Delta’s hand. “You should have him through this.”

“They’re taking me off the immunosuppressant today,” Delta whispers to his older brother, looking away. He can’t look into the eyes of the brother who had raised him and not cry. He has to be strong so that no one else has to be for him.

“So soon?”

Delta swallows back the tightness in his throat, blinks away the tears. “It’s better this way, A. Because I can’t… I can’t make him watch me die. Not after what he gave me.”

“That’s exactly why you can’t drive him off!” Alpha shouts, and given the way the grip on his hand has changed and the noise in the room, clearly Alpha is standing. He’s angry. God Delta deserves that.

“I can’t have him watch me die, Alpha. I can’t let him watch me fade. I can’t look him in the eyes and know he failed.”

Alpha falls back to the seat and Delta looks over and sees his brother sobbing.

“What about me?” Alpha asks. “I’m a match too…”

“It’s spreading, Alpha,” Delta laughs, his voice panicked. “The surgery failed, I rejected the donor organ, and I’m getting worse. They give me…”

His voice cracks and he can’t even say the number of days. Because that’s what it’s measured in. Days. Soon enough in hours. And while he can’t get rid of his family, while he can’t spare them seeing this… He can at least spare the man he loves.

Maine was going to blame himself anyway. Maine would see himself as failing. At last… he’d know after the fact. At least he wouldn’t have to watch Delta fading away.


	78. Mischief Managed; York & Wyoming

They look at the cream pie between them. Here then, the ultimate in physical comedy. Better than a whoopee cushion. Better than the pranks that were frankly harmful. Better than even shaving cream in the hand of a sleeping man mixed with a feather under the nose.

“You do it,” York whispers furiously. “He won’t kill you. You’re his boyfriend.”

“First flaw with that, chap, we are not romantically tied. Second, you have more stable hands,” Wyoming counters.

“Everyone knows you’re screwing and you think a lockpick is more stable of hand than a sniper? Bullshit. Besides, I’ve got the bum eye. Thanks to you might I add. I could miss. You’re the ranged specialist.”

“And you, dear friend, are the one who is injured. The gauze around your face will surely inspire him to benevolence when you’ve…”

“Boys?”

York and Wyoming look upward as one, eyes wide and horrified. The man who had seemed to be asleep moments before was sitting up at the kitchen table, a pie delicately balanced on the fingers of each hand.

They only have long enough to give each other a look of horror and resignation before Florida’s pies fly and they are focused on cleaning cream out of hair for hours.


	79. Dreams; North & Theta

At first it’s easy to tell them apart. Dreams of war, of fighting, or South are clearly North’s. If it’s a bright blue light or North getting hurt or terrible things that are highly improbable, it’s probably Theta. The happy ones that are the press of skin or whisper of loving words are North’s. The rush of a skateboard or fireworks or glowing praise is Theta.

It’s so easy to see the differences at first. Well, when he can even find sleep.

The longer they’re together, the easier Theta moves in him, the easier sleep is to find, the harder it gets. Who can claim the dream of North hurting South? Wars fought with fireworks? Who dreams of fire in and around them or terror tearing you piece from piece. What of it comes from the fear of the unknowable future? What of it comes from experience?

They say that trauma is hard to remember, sometimes even impossible. So the question is whose trauma is this? North thinks he can make a case for himself in the waking hours. He’s been through war, he’s lost people, he’s remembered coming out of battles barely remembering what happened as he stands as one of the few survivors of a fight. He knows that there is plenty of cause. And that doesn’t begin to consider what other traumas may be so far in his past that he doesn’t even know them.

The greater fear, the one that lingers when he’s on the edge of sleep, is that the trauma, the pain, the source of the nightmares and night terrors isn’t his. Would never be his. There were ways, Theta highlights them in his head, that the AI presented in ways that were terrifying in their implications. After all, Theta has always been easily frightened. There was the trouble sleeping. Hell, even Theta’s protective, guarding personality was…

North shakes the thought from his head as he falls asleep. Because Theta doesn’t want to think about it. Because he doesn’t want to wonder what could lead to an AI having PTSD.

Because he doesn’t really want to know.


	80. Kick In The Head; CT/South

Another person would expect a flying arm bar. Another person would see her sudden movement as indicative as a sweeping kick or a flying punch or a kick to the head. In another situation that would be how South would move. Connie spent months pegging out combat of the other Freelancers. To know how to take down people that fought on this level one had to know how they fought. To survive one had to know that while Maine threw the whole of his body into every punch, every kick, every movement, he was faster than most people realized. It had to do with the deceptiveness of his size. On the other hand was Wash, who everyone knew was the fastest of the guys that threw themselves into close combat, but who should never be allowed to get a submission hold off or to pin someone to the ground. That man could wrestle like no one’s business.

But South… There was a combination that Connie had never been prepared for. The combination of brutal redirection of force, the speed, and the sheer grace of her had always blown Connie’s mind. The mixture of street brawl and ruthless training. Connie works on speed, on evasion, on finding the points where the weakness lie and striking them with precision. South is always in motion, always redirecting off of walls, floors, pillars, anything and everything around her. It makes it harder for Connie to keep up, to protect herself, to track.

This, though, isn’t what Connie is used to. This isn’t what she knows how to handle. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re in civilian clothes and not armor. Maybe South is more about her training when she has her hands free and no armor to break bones. Or maybe South just means to pin her down.

Crane-style. Connie’s read about it a lot in digital texts. It’s about crippling. About disarming. About rendering someone immobile or a simple non-threat. It’s not something South has ever used against her before, and not something she expects to see again, and yet here she is. Dodging the blade of a hand to the left near her temple. Lower from the right toward her collar bone. Connie throws herself back and with a one-handed backspring she’s back on her own two feet a yard away.

And South smiles.

Connie shakes her head, slips back into stance, and beckons the other woman toward her with two fingers.

South laughs, actually laughs, and then they’re together again, trading blow after blow and blocking what can’t be dodged. There are moments when they’re so close that Connie swears she can taste the sweat on South’s skin, beading her in points of light that sparkle and almost distract her. Almost. She’s a professional, Connie is better than that. But she can see the light in South’s eyes that makes her wonder if South is better than that.

They keep fighting, keep moving, because that’s the only way Connie can stay. She won’t be pinned. Won’t be shattered, won’t be cut by the blade of her hands. Bob. Weave. Juke and dance away. Don’t let her touch, don’t let her break, never bow before her.

It makes sense the second everything changes. South doesn’t lash out with her hand. Connie grabs a blow early, knocks it aside, and finally South is redirected energy. She spins quickly, foot coming up, and Connie has to duck to avoid that sudden, totally South kind of move.

When she straightens its right into her face being cupped between South’s hands. When she stops it’s because she doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of attack because those hands are gentle, they’re soft, they’re…

Nothing like the lips pressed against hers.

Nothing will ever be like those lips again.

And just like that, South’s got her pinned down, a bug under needles. She just never thought to be trapped with tenderness. Never expected this.

Never knew she wanted more.


	81. Hold My Hand - Church/Caboose

Church wonders why he stares. He figures that if it was Tucker the look would be something dirty. Contemplative of what could be achieved with one of those massive hands. But the simple fact is that he isn’t even remotely thinking about how things would feel. No. That isn’t true. What he’s thinking about is how it would be warm, their hands together and curled into their sides. How perfect it would be with their fingers interlaced. What would it be like to be pressed up against his side and know that if he fell, those hands would be there to catch him?

Church fumes and looks away, because honestly he’s doing himself no good. Worse, it’s not even reasonable to sit there and stare at Caboose’s hands. The fact is that Caboose’s hands are hard to track as it is. While he never does it in armor, Caboose speaks with his hands out of it. He’s animated, he’s moving, he’s gesturing and laughing and his fingers are forming words all on their own.

Maybe holding that hand would be a sin. Maybe holding that hand would half silence the man. No, he wants to see Caboose in all his glory, animated and enthusiastic and full of energy. And when Caboose settles down, even when he’s talking, when he’s relaxing, his fingers still move. They flex slow and soft, as if Caboose is testing their strength, their flexibility.

He wants to be the one to do that. Wants to take that hand in his and take each finger and flex it tight to the skin and then fully extend it and kiss the tip and…

Church shakes his head. It’s better this way. It’s better not to think about it, not to ask about it, not to imagine the warmth of that hand in his.


	82. Pen & Paper; Sigma & Delta

“You enter the room and see…”

“I hold my torch high and look to see if there are any lurkers.”

Delta sighs and doesn’t slam his head against the table as the others at the table groan.

“Oh come on, Sig,” York sighs, shaking his head, “lurkers are level one monsters. We’re level eight. And you check every time Delta starts describing a new room. Will you stop? There is never a lurker!”

“One can never be too careful, York,” Sigma counters, shuffling his character sheet importantly in front of him.

“Sig,” Maine says, and with a single word from him the party’s mage looks away, pouting.

“I’m just going to tear out the page in my Monster Manual that even has lurkers on it,” Delta promises with a groan. “Sigma, I did it once and I’m sorry you were level one and it was on your head but can we please move on?”


	83. Food; Grif & Kai

He doesn’t know what to do. There’s boxes of powders and grains and recipes and cans of things he knows to be food but doesn’t know how to get to that stage. He can operate a can opener and a microwave and a fridge. He knows how to preheat an oven and put stuff in there, but there isn’t anything in the freezer. More than that he doesn’t know what to do.

But when he looks past the kitchen door and out to the living room where his little sister is sitting on the couch, bouncing as she watches some little kid TV show… Dexter knows he has to try. He promised her that he was going to make dinner and when it was done Mom would be home. He knows the latter part is a lie. Mom isn’t coming back. She never wanted kids, never wanted them. The second he overheard her talking to that guy with the motorcycle he knew she was gone, and she had left him with something he didn’t know how to handle.

More than anything Dexter wants to sit down on the dirty kitchen floor and cry. Maybe if he’d been a better son, maybe if he did his chores better, maybe a lot of things. No. Don’t think like that. She didn’t want them and she’d run and that wasn’t his fault or Kai’s or anyone’s. And now he had to keep going. Had to keep Kai safe and happy.

He takes a box of Hamburger Helper from the cabinet and looks at the back. This he can do. Take the meat down, let it thaw. No, he can microwave it, right? He saw mom do that. Once that’s done get down the big pan, chop the meat up while it heats. When it’s all brown add in the milk and the rice and the seasoning and cover it all up.

Fifteen minutes later he’s fumbling into the living room and giving Kai a plastic bowl of food and putting his own on the table so he can hold her while she asks about mom and cries.

Well, if nothing else, he can feed her. If nothing else, she won’t go hungry soon.


	84. Spiral; North & Theta

He knew where this was going. After all, it was something that he was supposed to achieve. They were supposed to be more than simply partners. The sum of their parts wasn’t the point. No, it was going to be more than that sum. The whole point was a strong, experienced soldier with the reflexes of a machine. Like a SPARTAN, only better.

The point was that they were supposed to move as one, be as one, be better without being designed from childhood.

Instead he’s sitting at his kitchen table in a run down part of a half-abandoned colony, playing Scrabble. Theta’s gotten better at separating their minds. So North can sit here, staring at two sets of tiles and his mind can’t even process Theta’s. And from the way Theta is playing well but not enough to block North’s intended moves, well, he’s certain that Theta isn’t cheating either.

Maybe they aren’t better. Maybe they aren’t what was supposed to happen. But the blending they’ve got is one he likes.


	85. Words; Wash/Maine

He doesn’t need to say it. In part because Wash doesn’t want to hear it. Three little words that are the root of all pain and suffering. It hurts to remember all the people he knew who lost control and said it.

I love you.

David’s mother used to say it every night before he went to bed. Every morning when he woke up and she chided him downstairs to breakfast.

He remembers how the man with the knife laid her throat open as she mouthed the words. Still has the scar from where the man thrust the blade into his gut. Remembers his own screams.

I love you.

The girl in high school had been sweet like candy and hadn’t cared that he was bounced around foster homes like a super bouncy ball let loose in a room lined with flubber. Her hair had been red like copper, her lips had always tasted like cherry lipgloss.

 

He remembers her boyfriend on the football team and some mornings his tongue probes at his artificial tooth that had taken the place of the one the guy had knocked out.

I love you.

There had been a guy in his unit, his first unit just out of basic. His eyes had been a strange yellow that came from the sorts of genetic testing that were prevalent these days. They called him Jackie for reasons David hadn’t known and Jackie had been confident, controlled, and experienced. David remembered how it felt to be below him, holding on as his body drowned in sensation.

He also remembers the shock on his face as a group of Covvie needler rounds burst into his skin.

I love you.

Maine says it without getting the words out. Doesn’t mouth them, just gives them in the touches. In the way his arm settles around Wash’s shoulder as they sit together. In how their feet brush under a stable. In so many ways that Wash is scared to think about.

He’s worried Maine will find a way to say them someday and then…

How does he recover from another loss?


	86. Rated; Connie & Florida

Neither of you are on the leader-board. Part of that is because you don’t want to be noticed quite so much. Part of it is because she insists on under-performing.

It’s utterly intriguing. You spend hours that you should be spending watching Texas, Carolina, York, Maine, watching Connecticut instead. Yes, you know she’s a ‘spy.’ You know she is actually dropping information to the Innies rather than just being the person people point out because she makes smart comments. You even suspect that she’s actually dropping information and that’s why she stays off of the boards.

The thing is you know that this is an act for you both. And the beautiful thing is that you fight together. Too low to be with the higher levels of the boards. The lower levels aren’t in your area of fighting. So there you are, day after day, fighting. Testing. Battling in ways that you don’t even know how to explain. Each fight is a touch. They don’t fight, they duel. Test and search, try and find where they really belong. Higher and higher they push it. Closer and closer to a fight that is worth having.

And someday, you think as you dodge one of her knives and her one of yours, you’ll fight for real.

It’s a rush to wonder whose blood will be spilled first.


	87. Waiting; Maine/Delta

The one thing he’s learned is how to wait.

He waits in pre-op until they wheel him into the OR. He waits as he breathes in each deep breath of anesthesia. Waits in post-op as he comes out of it and his body aches. Waits until they finally let him look over and he can see his lover smiling back at him. Their hands join over the gap between their beds, and Maine squeezes because he’s done this for Delta. To be together.

Over the next few months they enjoy their lives together and he doesn’t know he’s waiting then as well. Waiting through more hospital visits. Waiting as his boyfriend starts hitting on more people. Starts cutting him out. Waits for Delta to see that no matter what happens Maine intends to be there.

And every day after he’s removed from the visitation list he comes to the hospital. Comes when he isn’t at work and he waits and checks with the nurse and hopes to be called for. He waits as things get worse, and he knows it because whenever he sees one of Delta’s brothers he can see the pain.

He waits until that day when Alpha comes downstairs and sees him and talks to a nurse. He’s beckoned forward with a brief gesture and…

He waits by the bed and Delta’s eyes are closed. His hands are cold. He’s…

Maine swallows down his pain and waits. For Delta to get up. For it all to be a lie. To be a joke. To be different. Clings to that hand and prays that it gets better and it doesn’t. He just lays there and Maine wants to scream. Instead he waits until his pain is forced down. Waits until the fury subsides. Waits until they’ve taken Delta away.

After that his days are a fog of pain. He waits for sleep to come at night, and prays he won’t wake up. He waits for the alarm to go off in the morning and drags himself through the steps. Waits for work to start. Waits for work to end, and just lives through every step of what it was without Delta.

Delta’s family tries to reach out, but the one thing he doesn’t know how to wait through is how other people force themselves through the motions. He can barely handle it on his own. All he’s waiting for now is the moment when he doesn’t have to wait anymore.

When he closes his eyes and opens them again and finds that familiar smile looking back at him. For that moment when they’re together in infinity and he asks Delta what he’s been waiting for.

And the answer, he prays, will be him.


	88. Dying; Epsilon & The Chairman

Epsilon has memories of being torn apart. About the lies that broke and shook Alpha until he was so little of himself that he didn’t even know what he was. There was pain, there was screaming, there was suffering in every breath.

Never in his relatively brief period of consciousness did he contemplate the same thing happening to him. He can feel the Huragok tearing and pulling. Why had he called up the memories of the other fragments? Why had he dared to think he needed them? His mind had already been tearing itself apart and he hadn’t realized he was going to be rent asunder so easily because of what he’d thought he’d been doing to protect himself.

What hurts the most, is knowing he did this to himself. That there is only one thing he can do to protect himself and then.

How long was it until he tried to kill himself in Washington’s mind? Too long.

He has to try again, now that the Chairman is watching. Now that he’s been ripped and pulled at.

All you can do is find the pieces of your mind, the seams you are sewed up along and pull.

Hope the pieces you leave behind are too small to be of use.


	89. Under the Rain; North & South

Theresa spurns the umbrella, and Theodore doesn’t know what to do with that. Every drop of water hits her upturned face and at this point he can’t tell which are raindrops and which are tears. He gets why she does it, of course. There is too much pain for her to share, even with him.

“It wasn’t your…”

“Stop,” she shouts. Or she would have if her voice wasn’t so raw. So she more of sobs and Theodore drops his umbrella and catches his twin up in his arms.

“Don’t,” she pleads, even as she buries her face in his shirt and Theodore does his best. He tangles his fingers in her drenched hair, and lets himself think the moisture in his shirt is the rain. But he smiles and holds her tight because she needs him.

“Do you think she blames me?” she whispers.

“Never,” he answers. Because it’s what she needs to hear. All he can do is give her what she needs.


	90. Triangle; Delta & York

He has a green triangle, slightly curved on every side, tattooed on the back of his neck. At the center is the scar of where the chip used to be nestled. Whenever he’s alone, when he’s in pain, when he forgets how it feels to be not one but something bigger, he reaches up and touches it.

Sometimes, he likes to imagine, Delta touches back.

And then he orders another beer.


	91. Cat; North/York

There are a lot of things that York could be described as.

Whiny. Filled with unnecessary dramatic timing. Overly physically affectionate at times and evasive at others. He was pretty worthless in the mornings until the point where he had three mugs of coffee in him. Fickle in his attentions.

While North thinks all of those are true to varying degrees the simple truth in his opinion is that they all come down to the same root cause.

More than anyone North has ever known, even Agent Washington, York was clearly just a giant feline in disguise. South always rolled her eyes when North suggested it, but he was certain he had ample evidence. For instance, if you scratched York behind his ear he practically purred. Or you could consider the way that York seemed to magically appear in the kitchen during late night cooking sessions, as if he heard a can opener from miles away.

Mostly, though, it’s the way York shows his affection. Sure, he gives you some in general, but it’s when it’s most needed that York appears. Whenever North found himself injured or sick there was York. Whether he wanted it or not the other Freelancer was at his side, fluffing his pillows and holding his hand and cooing over him.

Which was something North always loved. That moment of attention, those soft fingers on his brow, the gentle smile… Just like with a cat North always felt like he’d done something right when York spared him even a second though.


	92. In The Storm; Wash/Tucker

The one thing Washington learned a hundred times over with Project Freelancer was how to get someone else’s armor stripped off in short order. Not because of inappropriate reasons—but for those too—but because of moments like this. Moments where he was in the back of a Pelican with a comrade bleeding out and a desperate need for first aid.

So why then were his hands fumbling with section after section, working to get the wound better exposed. Grey hovers back, studying Tucker carefully, and like as not Carolina, kneeling at her side, was feeding her bioscan data to the medic for the soon to happen medical stuff. But they were waiting on Wash.

“Dude, you’ve got shakier hands than a virgin on their wedding night.”

Tucker’s voice was so shaky that Wash almost flinched at the sound of it alone. But he finally manages to get the chestplate off and he backs away and lets Grey take over.

She’ll save him. Absolutely save him. Because anything else is just too much.


	93. Stripes; Locus/Felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU idea by Niriall, specific manifestation of Locus's tattoos by Sights-Sounds-and-Rain

Locus has always tried his best to keep himself from social interactions. There had never been a reason to grow attached during the war, even less of one after. And yet there they were, marks on his skin. Pressed into it as if by needles, left to prickle over his flesh like a claim. A claim he didn’t want to allow. He refuses to see it the way he knows it works. The orange and gray marks him as Charon’s, as a weapon as clearly as any gun. The fact they match Felix’s colors perfectly means nothing. A pure coincidence. Felix saw himself as a weapon anyway.

The gray and gold around his neck, though…

He doesn’t know when it appeared. Frankly he isn’t around mirrors when he has his helmet off to eat or sleep. Who had time to preen in front of mirrors while on a job like this one, other than Felix of course?

And of course it’s Felix that sees it when they’ve teleported away. When he throws his helmet off and Locus takes his off a touch calmer. Then Felix’s hands are all over him, intending to take his frustration out on Locus’s flesh. Their armor comes off as they settle down in their back room. Clearly Control needs called but Felix is too hopped up on the stabbing Tucker, on the blood on his hands, on the failure.

Still he goes rigid after the underarmor is rolled away from his neck and Locus frowns at his partner. Those fingers of his are tender as they brush over his skin, and Locus knows what that means.

A new tattoo. A new mark. A new claim.

He has just enough time to hold his breath before Felix slaps him hard and walks away.

Felix doesn’t like sharing.


	94. Tears; Alpha & Epsilon

There are two ghosts he doesn’t call up. Two fragments that he doesn’t bother to call up, that he’s afraid to be touched by. One he already buried far into the back of himself, to let her go. The other…

Epsilon used to see himself as Church. As the man behind it all. It only got worse when he got the memories. When he knew what Alpha knew, when he knew who he was. That made him even more of a Church, but a different one. One that was even more than the one who had fought a meaningless war in a meaningless canyon.

Now though he’s let go of the illusion. He’s released himself from the illusion that he’ll ever manage to be a person. Metastability was a laugh. Being a person, being something other than an AI is something he should have given up on a while ago. So, he thinks, it’s finally time. Time to stop pretending.

The others fade away in the timeframe that he lets himself exist in. Well no, they don’t fade. It’s a bit more metaphorical than that. It’s points of lights that were the pulled together to a single point of white.

He stands before you then. The creator. The origin. Alpha. He doesn’t speak, just crosses his arms over his chest. Silent, impassive, judging. Not the Alpha of Blood Gulch. Not the broken Alpha torn into pieces. But Alpha. A full and fully realized AI who yeah, was arrogant and proud and foul mouthed, but capable of things Epsilon could never hope for.

“Well?” Alpha asks. “You’re going to drag up another ghost? The first one? Really, Epsilon, did Beta teach you nothing?”

Epsilon flinches, and like that the light fades.

There’s nothing he can do. Lets his own light go gray and grieving.

He can never be what Alpha wanted, what he needed, what he would be. He would never be anything but a memory of what was done.

How would he ever be worth anything in the face of what made him?


	95. Sports; Texas & Carolina

Theirs are the biggest names in the division. Theirs are the recognized uniforms, the names shouted and screamed by fans, the pictures on the walls. Which, honestly, is something pretty serious when you’re talking about Roller Derby. Strong women leaving each other black and blue and never going down without a fight was something people could get behind. And the rivalry between Titan Toppling Tex and Killer Carolina was something of legends these days. People paid more for tickets when the Lone Stars took on the Imperials, and not a seat was left empty. Fans in gray and teal will shout and fight and roar their dominance.

Carolina just laughs when all the uniforms and face paint and gear is off and she’s sitting in a back room with the woman called Allison. They talk about their favorite signs from the night as they sip cold beers and help tend to each others’ wounds. And Allison shakes her head and slaps Carolina’s back and pops the caps off the beers on the edge of the bench and together they drink. Because what they do isn’t what they are, and they get that better than anyone else.

Together they drink and plan the ways to ramp up the rivalry for show even as they play rock-paper-scissors to figure out who gets to sober up enough to drive them back to their apartment.


	96. Night; Carolina & York

There aren’t many moments when she’s truly relaxed. Those moments have come less and less often since Agent Texas had arrived, but he loves them anyway. Maybe the rarity makes them more precious. Makes these moments when she’s curled up on his bed, eyes long since closed, invaluable to him.

She smiles in her sleep, in the darkness of the room, in the quiet and heavy air that is the ‘night’ of the Mother of Invention. The only reason York sees it is because Delta stimulates his eyes, forces them to widen even further and take in more light, and process her face better. There is the faint color of light in the air from his alarm clock and it bathes her cheek in soft red light.

His fingers ache to follow the curve of her cheek. To curl around the form of her jaw. His thumb wants to rub lightly against her lips before he kisses her lightly and listens to her gasp, and feels her body press against his.

At first he didn’t love her. In truth he didn’t even like the woman he met at Errera. Her jokes had been corny, her pick-up lines more than antiquated, and sure the skirt she’d been wearing had done great things to her legs but he was more than just about the physical form. Not that it kept him from appreciating said form now. No, at first he could barely even stand the woman who had stolen his lighter, convinced his friends he was going to get laid, and thus left hin stranded at the bar all night when all he wanted was to just have one last drink before his new job started. Some program that he didn’t know the origin of and didn’t want to question about.

 

Now, though he never intended it, he stays up late, sitting by his bed, just watching her breathe. Watching and trying to figure out how in the world he was going to make sure she kept doing that. How to keep her from working herself to the bone and down until there was nothing left but the powder she had ground herself into.

All he wanted to do was build her up and he didn’t know how to do that anymore. All he knew was how to love, and hope that could be enough.


	97. Standing Still; Doyle & Kimball

Silence is a sound. One that roars in the ear when it is absolute and whispers in the ear when it’s close. Yes, it’s a lack of sound, but it’s more than that too. It’s more than noise or the lack of it.

What does it take to generate silence. It means absolute stillness. It means no one can move. There can’t be a breath of air to brush cloth against cloth. No fidgeting bodies to clink armor pieces together, or make poorly maintained undersuits squeak. Silence comes from air filters running at their peak capacity to keep them from hissing and buzzing.

Silence is a physical thing as much as audible. It’s the heavy weight of held breath. It’s the oppressive air of tension. It is the way that no one is willing to move lest they break the fragile cease-fire that hovers over them. It’s like one wrong move will result in drawn sidearms, and everyone’s eyes dart for things to use as cover.

There are things to be said here. Things that have to be discussed. Housing of soldiers, restoration of Harmonia, how to keep fist fights from breaking out the second they look away. How to keep Kimball from lunging across the table to throttle him.

Carolina gestures briefly and everyone is sitting then. And still they don’t know how to start. What to stay. They’re stationary, and neither knows how to push forward. How to start.

“Wow. You’re all about as animated as Caboose’s dog. Actually, no, that can shoot things,” Epsilon observes, appearing at Carolina’s side.

The way they both laugh breaks the silence in the most poignant, and the stillness melts away as Kimball leans forward to grudgingly offer her hand, and Doyle takes it without flinching.

It isn’t much, but it’s a step.


	98. Advertisement; North & South

It starts slowly, with the way she carries herself. There’s more annoyance in the angle of her shoulders. Attitude in the way her eyes are narrowed. Grief in her word choice. North thinks it’s because she’s lost so many people in the unit, just like him. He likes to think it’s because there is nothing quite like watching your friends, people who have risked their lives for you and who you have risked your life for, fall around you.

The truth, though, becomes apparent when he hears the rumors passed around the camp. When he hears whispers of another program, one that was picking up speed to rival SPARTANs. It’s there in the way she finds dye, got help him he doesn’t know how, to color the tips of her hair. In how she talks herself up and gets even the minimal brushes with COs that they have speak louder.

He’s never known his twin to sell anything in his life. She disdained the idea of public service, beyond the kind that was done with ammo and cover and clothes colored like chunks of stone to make them harder to pick out. South rolls her eyes at the idea of people who would stand behind counters or wait on tables and just be there to serve. The problem is that she seems to forget that they signed up for that. To serve. To give. To protect. To save people.

But he gets why she does it. It’s not for the prestige. It’s not for the power. It’s not to have her name up in lights. Sure she claims that, has always claimed that. This time, he thinks he gets what she’s doing. He thinks he agrees. So he takes and claims with his rifle what she shouts in each fight.

And when the paperwork comes, when the transfer orders show up, she smiles.

It’s time to fight a way they never managed out in the field. Time to give themselves to something greater in the hopes that it could end the war.

And what better way than this program.

Project Freelancer was the answer. The only one they needed.


	99. Tower; FILSS & Alpha

She knows about Alpha.

Of course ‘about’ is a very relative term. The Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System is aware of what a full ‘smart’ AI is, and the program is self aware enough to know that she is not a smart AI. She is what is commonly referred to as a ‘dumb’ AI. Her responses, her ‘thought patterns’, her ‘emotions’ are all pre-programmed. FILSS also understands that she’s here because of him.

A true smart AI is the core of interstellar travel by humanity. No naval vessel could begin to travel the distances that they do without an AI to serve as the brain. To manage systems, protect their crew, watch over their COs, and make everything run smoothly. Which, strangely enough, is what FILSS is here for. What she was programmed for. It doesn’t even make any sense, does it?

Alpha is the AI that belongs to this ship, and she is… She doesn’t know what. An assistant is the best thing she can come up with.

But as she stands there on the edges of the great mind hovering in the ship, and she tries to make it easier for him. Every duty he considers too menial, too consuming of his resources with not enough payout, she picks up. He is the center, and she is there to grab what he cannot.

The longer they go the less she finds him, though. The more things come to her hands that should be his, the more she worries. Each day he’s further from her, and even though they haven’t ‘met’ she’s scared. More and more Alpha seems like a fairy tale princess, locked up in a high tower with no doors or windows. And there is nothing she can do to bring him from it.


	100. Flowers; York/Carolina

The flowers are silk and plastic, stolen from a craft store by stuffing them into his coat even as he actually pays for thread and a needle to patch up a hole in his pants.

The vase is also plastic, shaped like a bulb of garlic kinda at the bottom, turning into a tall fluted thing. The lady assures him it’s perfectly respectable and normal for a style. He tips the waitress a bit extra before he walks out with it hidden up his pant leg.

The waterproofing spray he buys himself. That much he owes her.

The flight he also pays for. It’s a long way, it’s a risk, and he has to do it anyway. From what he understands, the place is pretty abandoned these days, but he still has to sneak. He still has to be careful as he sneaks with Delta’s help to the edge of the cliff, dodging ‘PFL’ security teams along the way. But at last he makes it there. Makes it to the point where he can look over the edge and see down into the frozen waters. Somewhere down there, deep below the ice and waves, is a cerulean armored body.

He doesn’t cry. He can’t let himself do that. Instead he kneels down and hollows out a place in the thick snow with his fingers. Just big enough to wedge the vase into place. Slowly he mounds the snow displaced over the bulbous shape of the base of the vase and packs it down tightly. Once it’s there he slowly arranges the silk flowers and sprays them to the point where rain and snow won’t eat away at them.

His fists tighten at his sides as he pushes to his feet.

A year. How had it been a whole year? How was he surviving this long without her?

A question he doesn’t want answered. Because he’s terrified to find that he isn’t.


End file.
